‘No,’ said Leanna. ‘I want to kill him myself. Besides, we have other things to do. It’s time to gather a War Council. Meet me at the house in one hour. Make sure Adam is there, and bring Snakebite with you too.’
Warg Daddy hesitated before responding. ‘Adam, yes. But Snakebite? Are you sure? He’s not such a good one for meetings.’
‘Are you questioning my decision?’ she demanded.
‘No, it’s just that …’
‘Bring him,’ she snapped. The sooner Warg Daddy learned to obey her commands and not question them, the better. She would have to teach him that lesson soon. She ended the call and pulled her clothes back on. After a night cloaked in nothing but her own fur, the clothing seemed like an unnecessary constraint, a reminder that she must still hide. But her plans were already in motion. Soon it would be the humans who would need to hide. And there would be nowhere for them to go.
Chapter Three
Upper Terrace, Richmond upon Thames, West London, New Year’s Day
The news networks were calling it the New Year’s Massacre. Hundreds had been killed in the overnight riots, either in the street battles started by vigilantes, or else by the mysterious and sinister creatures that had suddenly appeared just after midnight, bringing London’s New Year’s Eve celebrations to a sudden and violent close. Sarah Margolis sat glued to the TV, at Grandpa’s bedside.
The old man’s mind was wandering erratically, the brief moment of clarity that had come upon him during the night now replaced by brain fog. ‘I don’t understand it,’ he kept saying. ‘I just don’t understand. Who are these people dressed as wolves?’
‘They’re not dressed as wolves, Grandpa. They really are wolves. Now be quiet and listen.’
‘Wolves in London? Impossible! It’s an April fool.’
Part of Sarah wished it was just an April fool. The violence of the overnight rioting had been dreadful to watch, and the sight of armed police opening fire in crowded streets barely two miles from her own house was terrifying. But most frightening and terrible of all were the wolves, or Beasts, or whatever they were. Even though she had already watched dozens of replays of them prowling and attacking, the initial shock of seeing them hadn’t faded in the least. In fact, as more and more amateur footage and CCTV images were shown, the picture that was emerging was increasingly strange and unbelievable. One of the most startling images was of an enormous red-haired wolf stalking down the middle of St John’s Road in Battersea, its yellow eyes glowing in the dark like doorways to another dimension. The shot had been captured by a news photographer with a high magnification lens, and the pin-sharp quality of the photograph made the creature seem terrifyingly real, despite its fantastical nature.
Nobody could say with certainty where the wolves had come from, or, perhaps more worryingly, where they had gone. Some witnesses reported hearing the creatures speak. They were obviously suffering from some kind of hysteria or collective delusion.
‘The wolves spoke English,’ insisted one man. ‘They talked with London accents.’
‘London accents,’ repeated the news reporter raising a single eyebrow. ‘What did they say?’
But the man didn’t know. Blood ran down his face from a head wound, and his hollow eyes gazed out of Sarah’s television screen in shock. He was clearly in a state of disarray, but was adamant about what he had heard. Paramedics came to treat his head injury then, and he was taken away in an ambulance. The whole scene was one of absolute chaos.
‘Madness,’ muttered Grandpa. ‘The whole world’s gone mad.’
Sarah gripped his age-mottled hand tightly. The thought that her sister might be out there and caught up in the mayhem was too awful to contemplate. Melanie had been missing for two whole weeks now, and Sarah had still heard nothing from her. She could only hope that Melanie was still alive and out of danger, perhaps not even in London at all. She might be living it up in some luxury resort halfway across the world. Sarah clung ever more desperately to that slender hope as the night wore on. If she let it go, she was lost.
And yet despite her worries, the shaky and grainy videos of dangerous beasts on the streets of London had awakened something unexpected and visceral within Sarah. She had discovered an unexpected delight in watching real-life horror unfold before her. Although she tried to deny it even to herself, a small but growing part of her was cheering on the strange creatures as they prowled through the city, chasing their victims, spreading fear and chaos before them. More and more, Sarah was living her life anew, this time through the eyes of monsters. For the wolves could do something that Sarah no longer could. They could go out.
It was months since she had stepped foot outside the house. Her social life had long ago dwindled to nothing as she cared for the old man beside her. But she couldn’t blame Grandpa for her social isolation. No, it was her sister that she blamed. She had always secretly resented the glamorous and charmed existence that Melanie enjoyed. Envy, you might call it, though that seemed a petty word to describe what Sarah felt. It was more than that. As twins, it seemed that whatever Melanie possessed, Sarah lacked. They were mirrors of each other, and the brighter Melanie’s candle burned, the darker Sarah’s own world had become. The more Melanie went out, the more Sarah stayed indoors, until the fear of leaving the house had become a paralysis. She couldn’t resent her sister for that. One of them had to live, and if Sarah couldn’t or wouldn’t, then Melanie must, for both their sakes.
She hurried into the kitchen to make some tea for herself and Grandpa. When she returned, carrying the two mugs on a tray, the scene on the television had switched to a new location that was instantly recognizable to anyone.
‘Shh now, Grandpa, something important’s happening.’ A nervous presenter stood immediately in front of Number Ten, Downing Street, fiddling with her earpiece and microphone. A group of other reporters clustered around her, jostling for position, quickly adjusting dress or hair, more TV crews and microphones jutting into shot in the general chaos. They were clearly waiting for something to happen. Behind them all stood a uniformed policeman outside the familiar black door of Number Ten, a single calm figure amongst the excitement.
The voice of the anchorman cut across the buzz and noise. ‘We’re going live now to Downing Street, where we understand that the Prime Minister will shortly be making an announcement.’
‘That’s right, John,’ said the reporter, a thirtyish woman wearing a jade suit and a string of red beads around her neck. Her daily wardrobe had become familiar to Sarah over the days and weeks of the growing crisis. ‘The Prime Minister and her most senior ministers and advisers have been meeting this morning to discuss the overnight rioting and attacks by the unidentified creatures known popularly as the Beasts of London. The so-called COBRA meeting was chaired by the Prime Minister at Cabinet Office Briefing Room A, a secure location within the heart of Whitehall used by the government to discuss urgent responses to major security events and other crises with national or regional implications. It’s not known exactly who was present at this meeting, but typically we would expect key government ministers, the Mayor of London, the Police Commissioner and other senior security advisers to attend in order to brief the Prime Minister and enable her to make any necessary decisions.’
‘And we understand that the Prime Minister herself will be speaking to the press to explain what actions are to be taken?’
The reporter touched her earpiece. ‘That’s right, John. In fact, I believe that the Prime Minister is about to come out of Number Ten right now to speak to us.’ She stood to one side, turning to where the black door with its lion head knocker and polished brass letterbox was already opening. The modest Georgian house always seemed to Sarah to be a strangely low-key location for such important briefings to be made. It seemed more likely that the Prime Minister would share her secret for preparing souffles than make a national security announcement. Curiously, the familiar domestic setting made the situation somehow less believable than if the Prime Minister
had descended some grand spiralling staircase, amidst marble and gold pillars.
The camera zoomed in to reveal a number of burly men wearing black suits and sober ties emerging from the building onto the pavement outside. Behind them stepped a small woman dressed in a grey suit, her high heels failing to make her reach even as high as the men’s shoulders.
‘Who’s that, Barbara?’ asked Grandpa.
‘It’s the Prime Minister.’
‘How can it be?’ moaned the old man. ‘She’s a woman.’
‘It’s normal these days, Grandpa. Now be quiet, she’s about to speak.’
Chapter Four
King’s College Hospital, Lambeth, South London, New Year’s Day
Vijay Singh sat upright in the hospital bed, waiting for the nurse to return. His right arm was bandaged and in a sling. A burning pain shot from the tips of his fingers up to his elbow whenever he tried to move it.
Rose Hallibury had accompanied him and Drake to the hospital last night, and she was still sitting at his bedside now as the faint light of the early morning sun began to push the darkness away from the windows. But even the rising sun couldn’t compete with the glow of her curly copper hair. Her beauty was hardly diminished by the dirt and blood that stained her face and clothes.
Vijay tried not to stare at her too much. He turned away, and winced as another jolt of pain shot along his arm.
‘What is it?’ she asked, leaning forward and resting a pale, freckled hand on his good arm. ‘Is it the pain?’
‘No,’ said Vijay sheepishly, feeling his neck flush as she touched him. ‘Well, yes, it still hurts when I move it.’
‘Just keep still then,’ said Rose.
The nurse returned from wherever she had been. ‘Good news,’ she said. ‘Your arm isn’t fractured after all. It’s just a sprained elbow.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Vijay. ‘It feels like every bone in my arm must be broken.’
‘The X-ray was clear,’ said the nurse. ‘The bones are undamaged. But the ligaments around the elbow joint are torn. You’ll need to rest your arm until it’s healed. Holding an ice pack against it for twenty minutes every few hours will help to ease the pain.’
‘How long will it take to heal?’ asked Vijay.
‘It should be fully healed in a few weeks,’ said the nurse.
‘Really?’ said Vijay doubtfully. ‘I can hardly move it.’
‘That should improve in a day or so. But you should wear the sling for a few days and try not to move your arm.’
‘So how long will I have to stay in the hospital?’ asked Vijay.
‘You don’t have to stay at all,’ said the nurse. ‘You can leave right away. I’ll give you a leaflet explaining how to self-treat at home.’
‘That’s great news,’ said Rose, smiling.
‘I suppose so,’ said Vijay. He had really expected to be staying in the hospital bed for weeks after being struck by the thug with the baseball bat. He ought to have been glad, but somehow being told there was nothing much wrong with him made him feel like a failure. The fact that he’d needed Rose’s help made things even worse. If he’d been hoping to impress her with some heroic act, he’d failed utterly.
Rose didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. ‘As soon as they’ve finished with Drake, we can all go home,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ said Vijay glumly.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s just that … if it was nothing more than a sprained elbow, I ought to have done more last night to protect everyone.’
‘You did your best,’ said Rose. ‘You fought those men, even though they had weapons. I thought you were very brave.’
‘Really?’
‘Yeah.’ She rested her fingers on his hand, squeezing it gently.
Suddenly the burning pain in his arm didn’t matter. He would suffer gladly if Rose thought he was brave. ‘I’m not as brave as you, though,’ he said. ‘You were amazing. You’re always amazing.’
Rose smiled at him, a pink flush coming to her freckled face.
Vijay swallowed nervously. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. Ever since the day Rose had first spoken to him at school he’d been unable to get her out of his mind. Before meeting Rose he’d always imagined that one day he would marry a girl his parents chose for him. An arranged marriage, with a girl from a good Sikh family. But now he’d met Rose, he didn’t think he could ever love a girl who didn’t have her pale freckled skin and copper hair. He hoped that his parents wouldn’t object to the match. How could they, when Rose was so amazing?
He just needed the courage to tell her how he truly felt. He’d always been too scared of what she might say. But if Rose thought he was brave, then perhaps he did have the courage after all.
‘There’s something I want to say to you,’ he said. It was almost as if fate had brought them together in this way, so he could speak to her now. Perhaps his sprained elbow had a purpose.
‘Is it about Drake?’ asked Rose.
‘Drake?’ Vijay screwed up his face in puzzlement. Drake Cooper was the last person he wanted to talk about right now. If it hadn’t been for Drake they would never have got into so much trouble last night. Why on earth did Rose think he wanted to talk to her about Drake?
‘About what Drake did last night to that man,’ she prompted.
An unwelcome memory intruded into Vijay’s thoughts. His friend, Drake, beating the injured thug who had attacked them with a baseball bat. Kicking him half to death as the man lay helpless on the ground. Vijay’s sister Aasha watching, her dress torn, her face hard, full of vengeance and without pity.
‘I know you tried to stop him,’ continued Rose, ‘but Drake just gave that man what he deserved. That thug was going to rape your sister.’
‘No,’ cried Vijay, dismayed. He knew it was true. But that didn’t make it right. No one deserved the cold-blooded beating Drake had given that man. That kind of violence could never be justified, whatever the man had done, or intended to do.
‘Anyway the man’s dead now,’ said Rose dismissively. ‘The wolf killed him.’
‘That doesn’t make it any different,’ said Vijay defensively.
‘Yes it does. The dead don’t matter. Only the living.’ She withdrew her hand from his.
Vijay stared back at the red-haired girl sitting at his bedside. He wondered if he really knew the first thing about her. One thing he did know for sure – he loved her, and love was all that mattered. He was losing control of the conversation though. If he didn’t say what he wanted to say now, he might never have the chance. ‘I wanted to talk to you about something else. I wanted to ...’
A shout cut his words off before he even knew what he really meant to say. ‘Vijay!’ It was Drake. His friend swaggered confidently toward him in his ripped jeans and T-shirt, his cropped hair sticking up and even messier than usual. His arm was in a sling too, and his lip was badly swollen where the baseball bat had caught him in the mouth, but he was up and about, unfazed by his injuries. But what truly astonished Vijay was that Aasha was with him, holding his free hand in hers. They walked close together, too close, much too close for Vijay’s liking. They came over to Vijay’s bed, looking elated, despite Drake’s damaged arm, despite what had happened to Aasha last night.
‘Look at us!’ said Drake, showing his injured arm to Vijay. ‘We both got slings. Wicked. You and me, we’re like brothers now, yeah?’ He turned to Aasha and gave her a wink.
‘How’s your arm?’ Vijay asked, trying not to notice the way Aasha gazed admiringly into Drake’s eyes.
‘It’s not really my arm that hurts,’ said Drake. ‘That bastard with the iron bar hit me in the shoulder. The doctor said I damaged a tendon. But it’s no big deal. I reckon I can handle it.’
‘Yeah?’ teased Aasha. ‘Think you’re a tough guy, do you?’
‘Reckon so,’ said Drake. ‘How about you, Vijay?’
‘It’s just a sprained elbow,’ said Vijay miserably. ‘Nothing to f
ret about.’
He heard his name being shouted again then, and Aasha’s too. He looked up to see his parents bustling onto the hospital ward.
‘Vijay!’ His mother sobbed when she saw him, and rushed to him with open arms.
‘Don’t touch my arm,’ said Vijay, before she tried to give him a hug. ‘It hurts when it moves.’
‘Is it broken?’
‘No. I thought it was, but it’s just a sprained ligament. The nurse said it will heal in a few days.’
His mother looked aghast. ‘A sprained ligament,’ she repeated. She turned then to face Aasha, her earlier look of concern replaced with anger. ‘And you?’ she demanded. ‘Are you hurt?’
Aasha shook her head.
His mother’s expression didn’t change. ‘And Drake is here too, I see,’ she said. She glared at the couple holding hands. ‘Are you hurt, Drake? Is your arm broken?’
‘I’m okay, thank you, Mrs Singh,’ said Drake. ‘My arm will be fine in a couple of days too.’
‘That is something at least,’ said Vijay’s mum. ‘No thanks to Aasha.’
Vijay knew what was coming next. So did his father, who stepped forward to take his wife’s arm.
She shrugged it off angrily. ‘Aasha, this is all your fault,’ her mother accused. ‘If you hadn’t gone out last night, the boys wouldn’t have followed you.’
‘I didn’t ask them to follow me,’ said Aasha petulantly. She turned her gaze to Drake. ‘But I’m glad they did. You should have seen what Drake did to the guy who tore my dress.’
Their mother threw a startled hand to her mouth. When she withdrew it, her face had hardened further. ‘I don’t care whose fault it was. And I don’t want to hear any more about what happened. You could all have been killed last night.’ She swept her gaze back to Vijay. ‘You should have known better,’ she accused. ‘You are not like your sister, you have always been a good boy.’
Vijay hung his head in shame. He knew he had let everyone down. His parents didn’t even know how close they had come to being attacked by werewolves. Vijay decided to keep that detail to himself.
Lycanthropic (Book 2): Wolf Moon (The Rise of the Werewolves) Page 2
