Chapter 27
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
A t first sight the house seemed deserted and that troubled me. What if Umbra were running a bluff and had scattered the wolfsbane to make it appear as if they were inside when they’d actually taken Nick and made their escape? That would have been the smart move – depressingly smart.
I slipped through the corridors and empty rooms, searching desperately for any sign of life. There was nothing on the second floor apart from a small spider furiously spinning a web in one high corner.
When I reached the first floor, I was greeted by the same emptiness and my anxiety ratcheted up still further. It was only when I reached the ground floor that I finally – and thankfully – heard voices from behind a closed door.
‘How long till the witches get here?’
‘MacTire will want the best, so that means the Wicker Witches. They’re based at the other end of Coldstream. It’s one of the reasons why Brassick chose this place. The earliest the Wickers will get here will be forty minutes, and it’ll take them another two hours at least to dismantle the magic that’s binding the wolfsbane to the ground. We’ve got plenty of time.’
My eyes narrowed. Both voices were male and both sounded calm; I didn’t hear even a quiver of anxiety about the lupine forces massing outside. It was as I’d expected: Umbra, whoever they were, had planned this. They weren’t afraid – and that meant they must have an escape route or they were as happy to die as Quack’s killer had been.
‘Will there be time to draw all the blood we need?’
My claws extended of their own volition.
‘Absolutely. Don’t worry about it. The demon will be ours soon.’ There was a pause followed by a satisfied sigh. ‘And when we have it, Coldstream will fall under our control. Victor’s sacrifice won’t have been in vain – we’ll make him proud. By Thursday evening we’ll be toasting his name with the finest whisky this city has to offer while every werewolf, witch and ogre bows down before us.’
They were delusional; these wankers believed they could control whatever damned demon they conjured up. And if Victor was the assassin who’d killed Quack, yes, they were clearly prepared to die for their cause. They must have had fish paste for brains.
‘What about the Church of the Masked God? They must suspect something by now. They know we want a demon.’
‘They can suspect all they like. We’ve been advertising our solstice event for days and everyone who shows up in Crackendon Square will be food for our demon. If any Masked God devotees or deacons appear, they’ll meet the same fate. It’s time we showed them what power really looks like. Coldstream needs a single, unifying leader if we’re going to get rid of those fuzzy-headed faith dealers. They think they own the hearts and minds of this community but our demon will eat the hearts and we’ll take control of the minds. Thursday is D-Day, my friend. We’re going to change the world.’
I’d heard a lot of crazy talk over the years but this was off the scale. I almost felt sorry for the two bastards – but it wouldn’t stop me killing them and I wouldn’t regret my actions for a second.
My ears twitched and my tail waved wildly from side to side. She Who Hisses had served me well but now I had to stand on my own two feet. I retreated to one of the empty rooms and hawked up the hairball. Time to play.
My unexpected sojourn as a MacTire captive meant I had no weapons on me; although that wasn’t a disastrous situation, it was one I needed to remedy sooner rather than later. With any luck, the two hapless fools in the room down the hall would be armed. I'd soon find out.
I straightened my shoulders, cricked my neck and cracked my knuckles, then strode back to the closed door, raised my fist and knocked sharply. The two voices inside that had been continuing their inane chatter abruptly fell silent.
I waited two beats and knocked again. This time there was a hushed whisper and the sound of footsteps. ‘Who’s there?’
I mouthed my answer, ‘Your worst nightmare,’ then side-stepped to where I wouldn't be seen immediately. A beat later the door opened and one of the men thrust out a gun. I snapped my hand across and wrenched it out of his shaking fist, twisted it and smashed the butt into his face.
He stumbled backwards, which wouldn't do. I thrust my hand out again, grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked it hard, pulling the shirt and the man through the door in one swift movement. With my left hand I closed the door after him, then I drew in a breath and met his shocked brown eyes.
I dropped the gun. Placing both hands on either side of his bony skull, I twisted hard and broke his neck with far more speed and far less pain than he deserved.
His companion was already yelling from the other side of the door and I wished he'd shut up; I didn't want all his deluded buddies appearing because they'd heard a commotion. Finally he must have remembered that he was armed because he loosed off two shots in quick succession. Both bullets smashed through the wooden door into the plaster of the opposite wall. Splinters of wood flew in all directions and annoyingly at least two embedded themselves in my cheek.
Silence descended as the shooter tried to work out whether he’d hit me or not. Given the lack of sound, it was clear that anyone else in the building was oblivious to what had just happened. Luck was most definitely on my side.
I bent down, scooped up the dead Umbra goon’s gun and checked it over. Silver bullets, as I’d suspected.
I pulled a face then listened hard, using my hearing to visualise the room on the other side of the wall. I heard a creak followed by another shot, which he blasted not at the door but at the inner wall. It didn’t penetrate the heavy Scottish stone. At least that answered one of my questions: if I wanted to ensure my bullets hit flesh, I’d have to fire through the door and not the wall.
Ducking down, I wriggled forward commando-style until I was in position. I heard heavy breathing and another faint creak, then closed my eyes and pinpointed their location. When I squeezed the trigger, I was rewarded by a painfully loud shriek and a thud. That was when I sprang up and burst through the door. Nice: from the way he was clutching his leg, my shot had done exactly what I’d hoped it would.
Getting shot is nothing like it is in the movies, it’s not a moment of pain and then you’re able to run away from your attacker or can properly defend yourself, not unless you have a lot of experience and an astonishingly high pain threshold. For the first few seconds, you don’t really feel much beyond shock. The burning agony doesn’t hit straight away but when it registers, it’s horrible. You can’t catch your breath and your body vibrates with fire and pain. Before too long, adrenaline takes over and you can react more usefully but until that happens you’re a vulnerable mess. That’s why I was able to walk up to the man and calmly take possession of both his weapon and the situation.
He groaned.
I eyed his wound; it was unlikely that he’d bleed out any time soon, and with proper medical treatment he’d recover. But I wasn’t interested in whether he’d be around to celebrate his next birthday, I simply wanted to know that he could still talk.
After another few seconds, he proved that he could. ‘You shot me, you bitch!’ Uh-huh: people always felt the need to state the obvious. I could practically write the script.
I patted him down, searching for any sign that he was carrying a similar suicidal poison to the man who’d killed Quack. There was some chewing gum in one pocket and a packet of crumpled cigarettes in the other. I popped a piece of gum into my mouth and held up the fags. ‘These will kill you, you know,’ I said amiably.
He glared and spat at me, his limbs flailing as he tried to punch and kick at me. I watched his attempts with detached interest. He was keen, I’d give him that. In my old job, I’d ensured my targets died as quickly as possible; I didn’t spend time observing their pain or asking them questions. Occasionally clients had requested that I inflict as much trauma and pain as possible but neither EEL nor I would ever have agreed to such a thing. You could be a killer but you didn’t have to be a dick.
This situation, however, was very different. I crouched down and stared at the man dispassionately. ‘What’s your name?’
He glared at me, so I waved both guns in his face until my meaning was clear.
He bared his teeth. ‘Liam,’ he muttered.
Good. I didn’t actually care what his name was but he’d broken the seal; answering one simple question freed him up to answer more.
‘Who else is in this building?’
He didn’t reply; instead his eyes promised dark vengeance. Yeah, yeah.
‘How many Umbra fuckers are in this building apart from you and your dead friend?’ If I had to keep repeating myself, I would get very irritated very quickly.
I waved the guns again and Liam looked away. ‘Three,’ he bit out. ‘And you can’t stop us! Our mission is sacred! We’re going to put Coldstream on the map. We’re going to change the world and nobody will get in our way! My death won’t change anything – in fact, it will strengthen our movement.’
Good grief. I gave him a long stare then spun on my heel, walked over to his buddy and half-lifted the corpse into a sitting position. I raised my eyebrows in pointed invitation. ‘How many others?’ I asked again.
Liam’s thin mouth tightened and fear flared in his eyes. Apparently he wasn’t as keen on martyrdom as he liked to pretend. ‘Five.’
That was better. I dropped the dead body. ‘Where are they?’
‘Downstairs,’ he said. ‘In the basement.’
‘In the same room?’
He nodded reluctantly.
‘What are they?’
He knew what I was asking. ‘Vampire, witch, ogre and two druids. ’
Interesting. ‘Who’s in charge?’ Someone had to be running this shit show; I reckoned I knew who it was but I wanted Liam to confirm it.
This time he pinned his mouth closed and I sensed he wouldn’t tell me, no matter how much I threatened him. He was scared of me but he was terrified of his boss.
‘Never mind,’ I said cheerfully. ‘I’ll find out.’ I crouched next to him, reached out and stroked his cheek. He flinched. ‘And the boy?’ I asked. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s with them.’
‘Is he still alive?’
Liam swallowed hard. ‘Probably.’
As far as I could tell, he was being truthful. From the way he’d answered, the Umbra bastards were harvesting Nick’s blood until there was none left. He was alive for now but wouldn’t be soon. I had been right not to delay outside.
I leaned over Liam, hooked my arms underneath his armpits and started dragging him out of the room. He kicked, thrashed and tried to dig in his heels. The blood seeping out of his wound left a wide trail across the dusty floorboards.
‘What are you doing?’ he gasped. ‘Stop!’ He licked his lips and I knew he was preparing to scream loud enough to alert his colleagues.
I paused. ‘Make another sound and I will kill you. Stay quiet and I promise you’ll leave this building alive.’
‘Go ahead and kill me then.’ He sneered as he belatedly remembered that he was supposed to be a zealot whose life was nothing compared to his cause. ‘If I die, the demons will reward my sacrifice tenfold when my soul joins them.’
I still didn’t think he believed what he was saying because he wouldn’t have answered my questions so easily if that had been the case. Liam possessed the bluster but not the follow through. ‘Have you talked to them about this yourself?’ I enquired.
This time he only stared at me.
‘Maybe if I hurt you more, your reward will be even greater.’ I tilted my head. ‘What do you think? If I chopped off a hand or a leg, will that make your afterlife in the demon netherworld even better? Shall we give it a try and find out?’
Again he chose not to answer and I grunted with satisfaction that I’d finally managed to silence him. At least he was too confused with pain and his silly visions of a glorious death to ask me what I was really planning – or maybe he was just too stupid.
I adjusted my hold on his body and continued dragging him out of the door towards the front of the building. Some sort of trap had been rigged around the front door. I examined it; it was considerably more elaborate than the booby trap Thane had constructed at the Galbraith house. This one would not release magical herbs designed to hurt rather than maim or kill but a spray of tiny silver darts; they wouldn’t kill me but I suspected that even one of them could kill a werewolf.
I glanced at Liam’s face. He was gritting his teeth and sweat was running down his pale face. Although my bullet hadn’t nicked any of his arteries, it might have hit bone and I knew from personal experience that the pain must have been intense. It sucked to be Liam – and it was about to get worse.
I released him for a moment to disarm the trap. As soon as it was safe, I opened the front door to reveal a hundred gaping werewolves on the opposite side of the street. I caught a glimpse of Alexander MacTire, who looked ready to explode.
I put a finger to my lips, indicating that I needed him and his furry minions to stay quiet. The rest of Umbra hadn’t registered my intrusion yet, but the sound of dozens of furious werewolves shouting at me could penetrate even the best sound-proofed basement. MacTire’s eyes narrowed in anger but he raised his hand to order everyone to shut up. I flashed a smile of thanks.
‘What are you doing?’ Liam whispered. ‘What the fuck are you doing? You said you wouldn’t kill me.’
I scooped him up again. ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I did say that. And I meant it, even though you said you’d happily die.’
‘If my death means that Umbra wins…’
I waved a hand dismissively, tired of his ridiculous statements about death that even he didn’t believe. ‘I won’t kill you,’ I repeated. ‘But I can’t make any promises about the werewolves. What they do with you is their choice.’
With that, I shoved him out of the door with enough force that part of his body landed beyond the wolfsbane line. Samantha darted forward and took hold of him, placed a hand over his mouth to muffle his screams and pulled him away. I didn’t know what would happen to him now, but I could imagine.
MacTire continued to glare at me. He didn’t need to worry too much; at the far end of the road, I spotted a group of witches heading towards us. They’d start dismantling the wolfsbane and if they were the Wicker Witches, as Liam and his buddy had surmised, it would probably take them less than two hours to complete their mission.
But even if it only took them twenty minutes, it would be too long for Nick. I turned my back on the werewolves and closed the front door. Bring on the basement.