Chapter 18 Felix
Felix
Theo pushed through the bookcase entrance, shaking his head before anyone could ask. He held up a clear plastic evidence wallet containing the tiny listening device that we’d found on our lightbulb.
“Nothing,” he said grimly. “Not even a partial print. Whoever planted this knew what they were doing.”
Seb nodded, unsurprised. “I hadn’t really expected them to leave prints, but it was worth checking.”
Before we handed it over to Theo to take to his station’s lab, we’d dismantled the device.
This was some serious tech, top-of-the-range components, custom fabrication, encrypted transmission, frequency hopping to avoid detection.
Its long-life battery was rechargeable using the photovoltaic strips around the device—it had been feeding off the light bulb.
Bespoke firmware, no manufacturer markings.
The most frustrating part was the timeline. We had no idea if this thing had been recording us for six months or six hours. The lightbulb fixture on the stairs sat perfectly in a camera blind spot.
It felt like too much of a coincidence for it not to be connected to Kit’s disappearance, but Seb kept reminding us that we had a lot of enemies.
Which wasn’t really what I wanted to hear.
My low-lying feeling of nausea had continued to grow. I’d barely slept a wink last night. It had now been over twenty-four hours since I’d waited under the lime tree for Kit to arrive. Twenty-four hours of not knowing where he was, if he was hurt, if he was even alive.
I was unable to focus on anything else. It was like someone was slowly tightening a vise around my ribs.
Kit could be anywhere. Tied up somewhere, being tortured…
or worse. The rational part of my brain insisted I’d know if he was dead—somehow, I’d feel it—but the anxious spiral dragging me down whispered that was just wishful thinking.
Theo’s inspection of Kit’s flat had turned up nothing.
No signs of struggle, no indication he’d even been home.
His phone had gone offline around quarter past seven at Clapham North underground station, which probably meant he’d boarded a Tube.
But after that, nada. He was supposed to meet a vampire who wanted to dish dirt on Marcus Vale’s whereabouts in Arnos Grove.
The station had been Kit’s suggestion, the idea being it would be very unlikely prying eyes would see the vampire negotiate with Kit.
Arnos Grove was all the way across London from Clapham North. Kit would have had to change from the Northern Line to the Piccadilly.
Who knew what had happened.
We hadn’t been able to contact the vampire on the number we had.
Not that he’d answer, if indeed the whole thing had been a trap.
“I’m going to go set up more expanded facial recognition searches on the transport networks,” I mumbled to the others, already slowly backing towards my cupboard. I needed the solitude of my lair to properly fall apart.
Bang!
We all froze. The sound had come from directly above us.
We all glanced between each other, each making the same calculation. Felix plus Seb plus Rory plus Theo plus Flynn plus Priya equalled everyone.
Someone was in our hotel.
Without a word, we rushed to my lair. I threw myself into my chair and jabbed at the keyboard, cycling through the camera feeds with trembling fingers.
A tall figure strode across the lobby towards the reception desk, movements confident. They stared long and hard at Dolly before reaching out slowly to touch her face.
Priya leaned over my shoulder, squinting at the screen.
“Is that… Wren?”
My stomach dropped. What the…?!
The figure on screen moved with his familiar lanky stride, long blond hair catching the lobby’s dim light. But what was Wren doing here? Inside the hotel?
“I’ll handle this,” Seb said, already moving towards the door. “The rest of you stay here while I disable him.”
“No!” The word burst out of me before I could stop it. “He’s a friend. He’s not—he wouldn’t—”
But the looks on everyone’s faces told me everything. The suspicion, the doubt. After the last twenty-four hours, after Kit’s disappearance and the listening device, they didn’t trust my judgment. They didn’t trust me.
“I’ll come with you,” Rory said, hand already moving to the knife at his belt. “Just in case he’s armed.”
I gasped. “Armed? Rory, he works at Fat Cat’s. He draws cats on coffee cups.”
As they left, Priya’s hand gripped my arm, gentle but firm, keeping me in place. “Let them handle it, Felix.”
My fingers flew across the keyboard, switching camera angles as Seb and Rory emerged into the lobby. I watched Wren spin round at the sound of their footsteps, his hands flying up in surprise.
Then Seb was on him.
Wren didn’t even have time to speak before Seb twisted his arms behind his back. The struggling was brief—Wren was tall, but no match for vampire strength. I watched in horror as Rory approached with a black hood, the kind we used for prisoners.
“No,” I breathed, my hands pressed against the screen. “Please, no.”
The hood went over Wren’s head, and his body went rigid with panic.
I must have made some sort of sound because Flynn touched my shoulder. “You all right, mate?”
“They’ll take him to room 410,” Priya murmured quietly. “For interrogation.”
She didn’t mention what else room 410 was sometimes used for. Storage. For bodies.
On screen, Seb and Rory were already marching Wren towards the staircase, his movements jerky with fear beneath the hood.
“I’ll go check the ground floor doors,” Theo said. “See if there’s forced entry.”
“Felix, let’s go up with them,” said Priya. “Flynn, you stay here and monitor the camera feeds.”
I let Priya guide me to the stairs, followed her up the spiralling steps. As we reached the fourth-floor landing, I heard it—Wren’s voice, high and terrified beneath the muffled fabric.
Screaming.
“Wren!” I shouted.
Seb turned towards me, his dark eyes flashing with irritation. The key was already in the lock of room 410, his glare making it clear I’d overstepped.
“Felix?!” came Wren’s muffled cry from beneath the hood.
Seb pushed open the door and we all filed into the room.
The space had once been a modest hotel bedroom, but Seb had stripped out anything resembling comfort years ago.
Bare concrete walls replaced wallpaper, and the only window had been bricked over, leaving harsh fluorescent lighting as the sole illumination.
A single wooden chair sat bolted to the floor in the centre, surrounded by restraints hanging from wall-mounted brackets.
A metal table held various implements I tried not to look at too closely.
Rory shoved Wren onto the chair. Wren’s breathing came fast and panicked beneath the black fabric.
“Hands behind your back,” Rory commanded, already producing zip ties from his jacket. The plastic tightened with sharp clicks as he secured Wren’s wrists to the chair.
Seb stepped forward and pulled away the hood.
Wren’s long golden waves, usually styled to perfection, now stuck up in wild tufts, his face flushed and eyes wide with terror. He blinked rapidly in the harsh light, pupils darting between our faces.
“What the hell is wrong with you people?” he shouted, straining against the restraints. “Have you lost your bloody minds?”
Seb’s expression remained impassive. “Now then. Please explain your presence in our establishment.”
Wren stared at him. “Your establishment? This is kidnapping! This is assault! I’m calling the police!”
I shook my head frantically, trying to catch Wren’s attention. That was absolutely the wrong thing to say to Seb. The vampire’s face darkened with something approaching amusement.
“Wren, please tell us why you’re here and how you got in,” Priya said, gentling her voice to activate “good cop” mode.
Wren’s gaze swung wildly between us. “Jesus Christ! I was only doing Rory a favour by returning his damned ferret!”
Silence dropped over the room like a stone into still water.
“What?” Rory stepped closer, his voice sharp. “What do you mean? Where’s Freddy?”
Wren’s expression shifted from fury to exasperation.
“An hour ago, that little grey monster came scampering into Fat Cat’s all by himself.
I was wondering why nobody from Killigrew Street had come for coffee today.
” His eyes swept over us accusingly. “Then Freddy appears, without any of you. He jumped straight up onto the counter to find me. But the owner is at the cafe today for our inspection, so I had to quickly hide him before she called an exterminator or something.”
He looked at us like he expected gratitude.
“Anyway, I fed him bits of cookie until she left. Then I thought I’d take an early break and do you all a solid by bringing him back.”
“And where’s Freddy now?” Rory demanded.
“He’s asleep in my pocket.”
“Bullshit,” Rory snapped. “He only ever sleeps in my pocket.”
Wren shook his head like Rory had lost his mind. “See for yourself.”
Rory reached into Wren’s coat pocket and withdrew one small, grey, undead ferret. Freddy’s yellow eye cracked open, glaring at Rory for disturbing his slumber.
Wren looked smugly vindicated. I didn’t blame him.
Rory clutched Freddy to his chest and scowled at Wren as if he’d been trying to steal him. The ferret nuzzled deeper into Rory’s jacket, apparently content to be reunited.
“So, no chance of a thank you, then, I take it?” Wren said sarcastically.
“How did you get in?” Seb demanded.
Wren rolled his eyes. “I was going to knock, then Freddy jumped out of my arms, slid through the letterbox, and before I knew it, the door was opening.”
Someone had been careless, if it was that easy for Freddy to open the front door.