Rob took him apart. Half the pub jumped him in response. Their blows felt like light taps and he went through them in less than two minutes.
Grant and two of the other lads from the remote house where they’d been keeping Rob burst into the pub before he killed anyone. It took all three of them to haul him out into the street. Grant was big and strong and fast, much more so than any of the regular guys in the pub, but he couldn’t knock Rob down by himself.
Rob tried to change, right there in the street and who cared who saw him? Rage called the monster, they’d told him, but despite the red haze in his head, his monster wasn’t taking calls just then.
“He’s as strong as that other bastard,” one of Grant’s men said.
“He wasn’t just a freak then,” Grant said. “Rob’s got whatever he had in him.”
“I want it out of me.” Rob sagged to his knees, breathing hard, strings of blood-stained drool hanging from his mouth. “I don’t want this. I want it out of me.”
“I know, Rob,” Grant said. “I know.”
“Fuck,” Rob said from downstairs. “Fuck.”
Julian had had a strong suspicion that things were going to go off the rails this morning. He’d made a point of ensuring he could see the bathroom door in the mirror while he got ready for work. A werewolf could move almost too fast to see, but Julian had trained to fight things that were far worse.
“It’s not here. It’s not here.”
That narrowed down the possibilities.
The bathroom at Rob’s place was small. There was a shower, a toilet without a toilet roll holder and a sink with a mirror over it. There was evidence black mould had launched invasions in the past, but the defensive line of cleaning chemicals held for the time being.
Rob had crashed out on his bed as soon as they’d arrived last night. Julian had spent a short time exploring the two-storey apartment and settled in the bedroom of Rob’s now-deceased flatmate. The shelves were cluttered with junk, there were drifts of clothes piled in corners and a cork notice board had dozens of photos pinned to it. Strangers in strange, sunlit places Julian didn’t recognise smiled at him. He assumed that the dark-haired man who appeared in many of the photos was Kevin Whitaker, who had died and died again. His inspection complete, Julian had sat on the bed and pulled a book from his satchel. He read a chapter on werewolves before going to sleep.
“It’s got to be here,” Rob said. He leapt up the entire staircase in three quick jumps. Julian’s hand went to his bag, which he’d placed on the closed toilet seat. Rob dashed past and began tearing his room apart.
The vampire Julian had interrogated the previous night had not known anything useful. A voice on the phone and a fake name had put them on the trail of Kevin Whitaker’s killer. Julian judged the vampires who ambushed them as freelance low-rent thugs. The only good piece of news was that they hadn’t reported their findings back to their employer. Whoever was looking for Rob still didn’t know who he was, though that couldn’t last.
Julian finished washing his face and upper body with a wet, soapy cloth. He rubbed his chin and decided he could get away with not shaving for a day. He made liberal use of a can of deodorant and packed his toiletries back in his satchel.
A particularly loud crash sounded in Rob’s bedroom, followed by the crack of wood breaking. Then Rob appeared at the doorway of the bathroom.
Julian turned, holding in his hand what could easily have been mistaken for a small mirror.
Rob’s eyes were wide and panicked. His hair stuck out in several directions. He had a three-day growth, though he’d looked clean-shaven first thing yesterday. Julian glanced at his hands where they gripped the doorframe. His fingernails were their normal length.
“I can’t find my chain,” Rob said. “It was in my pocket. My coat pocket.”
Julian kept his voice level. “Your coat got shredded last night. If you put the chain in your pocket, I’ll bet it’s still back in the alley.”
“Fuck,” Rob said. “Fuck.” He vanished. Julian heard him land on the floor downstairs without touching any of the stair-treads.
Julian took a business shirt out of his bag. It was freshly ironed. He considered skipping a tie until Rob calmed down but decided the risk of Rob grabbing him by the tie was minor. He took his suit jacket from his bag and pulled it on.
He found Rob in the kitchen downstairs, leaning over the sink, his hands bunched into white-knuckled fists.
“That iron chain you were wearing, it helps you control the wolf?” Julian asked.
“Yeah,” Rob said. “Dials my senses way down too. Not all the way to human, but most of the way. Keeps things like a woman’s perfume or a fresh injury from getting me too wound up.”
“Can you function without it until we get to the alley?”
“Yeah. Yeah. It’s just – I’d be okay if we hadn’t had that trouble last night.”
“Get ready for work,” Julian said. “We’ll stop by the alley on the way.”
“Yeah, you’re right, it’ll be there. Give me five minutes.”
It was rough for a werewolf, coming back to human form. If they didn’t eat while they were changed, they needed to eat as soon as they changed back. Rob hadn’t done either.
Julian searched the kitchen while he waited. The food cupboards had all been ransacked, so he couldn’t tell which one belonged to Rob and which one was Kevin’s. A few microwave meals and plastic containers lurked in the fridge, but Julian didn’t trust the blend of smells coming from it.
They stopped at a bakery near the Tube station. Julian bought a bagel and Rob bought a whole bag of them. Rob’s black mood was written all over his face and the woman who served them put his change on the counter rather than hand it to him.
By the time a train arrived, Julian had eaten his one bagel and Rob had eaten all of his.
Julian tried a little magic on the train. There was a chance it would draw too much of Rob’s attention, but he judged it worth the risk. He didn’t think Rob wanted to create a headline like MASSACRE ON LONDON UNDERGROUND, 30 PICCADILLY LINE PASSENGERS DEAD.
He steered Rob to one end of a carriage and then locked his gaze on each nearby passenger in turn. His will forced them to look at him and a hard mental suggestion pushed them further down the carriage. It didn’t clear much space, but it got Rob out of the morning commuter press of human bodies.
He raised a gentle curtain of air between them and the other passengers. It was invisible and would feel like a whisper of a breeze if someone moved through it, but it kept the scents of all the other passengers away from Rob.
Rob had propped himself against one of the two padded benches at the front of the carriage. His nostrils flared with every breath. He had lowered his head and Julian suspected he was running mental exercises to remain calm.
The train stopped without explanation for almost a minute outside Acton Town station. Rob’s jaw muscles bunched. Julian kept an eye on his fingernails until the train moved again.
They got off the Tube at Hammersmith. Rob stood for a minute drawing in huge breaths of fresh air.
There was a bakery just outside the station. Rob bought another bag of bagels while Julian waited. Rob had half the first bagel in his mouth before he’d even paid for it.
“Let’s get to the alley,” Julian said.
“We haven’t got time.” Rob had already started towards the street. “We’re barely going to make it to work as it is. Old Argyle is a stickler for punctuality.”
“Are you sure about this?”
“Yeah, I’ve got some food in me, I’m on top of it now,” Rob said. “I can hold out until lunch. I’ll go look for the chain on my break.” He mustered up a faint echo of his usual grin. “You should have let me eat one of the vampires last night.”
“You would have just thrown it back up,” Julian said. “Let me know when you’re heading out to look for it. I’ll come help.”
“Haven’t had enough of being around a werewolf on the verge o
f freaking out, huh?”
“It wakes you up like nothing else.”
Julian heard Rob let out a sigh when they reached the foyer of the building in which Odd’s Transport had its offices. Several people were waiting for the lift, some speaking on their phones, others holding cups of coffee picked up on the way from the Tube station. Julian drew the gaze of each in turn while they waited.
“Weird,” Rob said once they were in the lift. “Why didn’t anyone else get on with us?”
Julian shrugged.
“Man I need some coffee,” Rob said.
“Is that actually a good idea?”
“You wouldn’t think so, would you? You don’t want to overdo it, but one cup’s fine, especially if it’s black. Sharpens me up, puts me in better control.” He grinned, this time for real. “A cup of coffee and I’ll be right as rain.”
The lift door opened to the Odd’s Transport reception area.
They had already both stepped out when Julian realised they were in trouble. A man was leaning on the reception desk with his back to them, chatting to Jolene the receptionist. Julian could only see a black coat and an unwound scarf, but he knew who it was.
Dean Mawson glanced over his shoulder and his gaze fell on Rob.
Rob froze.
Without the chain masking his senses, Rob could smell what Dean was for the first time. Without Rob’s chain suppressing and concealing the wolf inside him, Dean could sense what Rob was for the first time.
“You’re a va–” Rob’s face writhed with the effort of holding back the word. “You – son of a –” He choked his voice off.
Dean was rigid with fury. His lips peeled back and Julian saw his teeth sharpening into fangs. The smooth salesman was torn away and the predator looked out from behind his eyes.
Dean said, “Now I know what happened to Kevin.”
A rattling growl emerged from Rob’s throat. His shoulders hunched and he bent forward.
“Do you really want to do this here, Dean?” Julian asked.
Dean made a small, flicking gesture with one hand. “You’re new. You don’t know how things work around here.”
Julian groped for something to say. “You think management wants you tearing into each other right here in reception?”
“I’m not the one starting anything,” Dean said. “Look at him. He’s more animal than man. It’s all he can do just to stand there, isn’t it mongrel?”
“Piss on you, blood-bag!”
If there were words that could defuse the bomb about to go off in reception, they were beyond Julian. He started to think he would have to move into the more reliable territory of violence and deal with the consequences when voices came up the stairwell, accompanied by echoing footsteps. Dean shifted so Julian, Rob and the door to the stairs were in his direct line of sight. Julian moved to where he’d block anyone from seeing Rob.
“I should probably take the stairs more often anyway,” said Graham Cardle as he came out of the stairwell. He’d been waiting in the foyer when Rob and Julian caught the lift up. “It’s not like I get to the gym all that often.”
“I try to work out at least three times a week,” Asad Asif said. “But Louisa’s always got us going off to one thing or another.”
Asad worked in their section, while Graham worked in IT. They nodded to the receptionist as they passed and Asad greeted Dean. The glass door into the company offices cut off their voices as it closed behind them.
“We’ll pick this up later, Robbie-boy,” Dean said. He stood loosely, casually, but there was a gleam in his eye he didn’t let the office girls see. “I had to go through a lot to get permission to turn Kevin. We’ve an account to settle, you and I.” He mimed shooting a pistol at Julian and strolled into the office.
Rob closed his eyes and took big breaths. Julian exchanged a look with the receptionist, who watched him without blinking.
“Let’s head in, Rob.”
“Yeah,” Rob said. “That arse. Doing that to Kevin. Siccing the poor bastard onto me like that.”
Julian didn’t comment. He got Rob to his desk and patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll go and get us both some coffee. No milk or sugar, as you said. Cool your heels here, okay?”
“I can smell him,” Rob said.
“He’s not going to do anything right now. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He went back towards reception but stopped before going through the glass door. He needed to go out there and convince Jolene not to speak of what she’d seen to anyone, but he didn’t know how to go about it. What did you say to someone to encourage them to shrug off a near battle to the death between two monsters?
Jolene was on the phone, but she finished her conversation and hung up. She had a large mass of curly grey hair bound back with a band of wooden beads. Her dark skin was creased with laughter lines, but she wasn’t laughing when she looked at him.
“Hi Jolene,” he said. “About what just happened –”
“Nothing happened, Julian.” Her rich, husky voice effortlessly overrode his. “Mr Argyle didn’t say one way or the other, but I’ve known the man long enough to have a good idea when he’s happy and when he’s unhappy.”
Julian glanced at the phone. He swept his gaze around the reception area and spotted a small dome of smoked glass in one corner of the ceiling, the kind that has a CCTV camera in it.
“I didn’t see that before,” Julian said.
“You’re not supposed to, young man.”
“So, happy or unhappy?”
She turned back to the screen of her computer. “You’d know if Mr Argyle was unhappy.”
Julian kicked at a pile of damp newspapers, magazines and flyers. It rolled on its side and most of it stayed together, but a few shreds of grey newspaper print stuck to his shoe.
“Here!” Rob crowed. “It’s here! Augh, it smells like piss!”
“We can wash it with –” He stopped because Rob had already fastened the iron chain around his wrist.
Rob said, “Ahhhhhhhhh.”
“Better?”
“Yeah. I feel human again.” He sniggered.
A spring had been coiled up inside Julian. Finally he let it relax. Rob’s entire bearing had changed. The tension around his eyes and mouth had let go and his head, bent forward all morning as if to charge and hamstring someone, tipped back to let the world in.
“It really does smell like piss though,” Rob said. “Someone must have come along after we had our fun.” He raised it to his nose and sniffed. “Yeah, human, not an animal.”
Julian said nothing.
“That was gross, wasn’t it?”
“That was gross,” Julian said.
“Want to get lunch?”
They were close to the pub where they’d found themselves the night before, but they stayed clear of it. Instead they chose a café a few doors down. By the time Julian was halfway through his sandwich, Rob had eaten three of his five. “You’re still putting them away,” Julian said.
“Got to eat like a damned horse after that kind of night.” Rob didn’t stop chewing while he spoke. “My grocery bill around the full moon breaks the piggy bank and then stamps on its piggy carcass, I don’t mind telling you.”
Julian stared out at the street for a few moments. Men in black coats and women in sober colours and sensible heels moved past in both directions. “I haven’t even been keeping track. It’s hard to in the city with all the light pollution. When’s the full moon?”
“The full full moon is in two nights,” Rob said, “but the night before and after is close enough. I usually go lock myself up in Mrs Prashad’s basement.”
“You don’t have control of it then?”
Rob lifted a hand and rocked it from side to side. “I’m getting there. It’s been a hard slog, let me tell you, but between the mental stuff and this thing” – he waved his iron chain – “I can usually make it through. It helps if I’ve changed during the month. The tension builds up over days and weeks unti
l I can hardly hold the change back. But yeah, mostly under control now.” He shoved another half sandwich in his mouth, chewed far too briefly and swallowed. “I just don’t like to take chances, you know? Don’t want to be one of those rotten sods who end up killing a nice middle-aged couple on the way home from a night out at the cinema or whatever.”
“It isn’t easy when your own body turns against you,” Julian said. He put down the last few bites of his sandwich. It had lost its taste.
Rob shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Mrs Prashad always does me a dinner that lights a fire in your mouth and then sees me off with a proper decent English breakfast in the morning. Really a nice lady.” He dusted crumbs off his fingers. “Thanks for the hand this morning, matey. Don’t know what I would have done without the help, you know?”
Julian looked out the window again. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“It was,” Rob said. “I owe you one. Speaking of which, did you get a chance to call your estate agent and line up another place?”
Julian thought of the call he’d placed to Roy Chandler once he’d decided Rob wasn’t going to leap over the cubicle partitions and try to claw Dean to death. Roy Chandler’s teeth had started clattering together when he heard Julian’s voice and he said, “Please don’t call me again.” The line then went dead.
“No luck there,” Julian said.
“Well, if the thought of living with someone whose life is as messed up as mine doesn’t put you off, I can always call my landlord and see about getting you Kevin’s room. I don’t know what we’ll do with Kevin’s stuff, but we’ll sort something out.”
“Make the call,” Julian said.
A man in his late twenties met them at the apartment at seven that evening. He reeked of the foulest cigarettes Julian had ever smelled. Julian glanced at Rob and saw that while Rob’s face was business-friendly, his hands were balled into fists in his pockets.
“I’m Craig,” the young man said. “Mr Hawthorn’s nephew. I take care of business for him down here in London.”
Julian shook his hand and opened his senses to the man. He appeared to be ordinary, without a trace of magic about him. He had told the truth about working for the landlord, Mr Hawthorn, but he had lied about being his nephew.
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