High Moor 2: Moonstruck (23 page)

A light cough came from the back door. All four men turned around in unison to find themselves looking at a red−haired woman, dressed in a long, black overcoat, pointing a pistol at them. A predatory grin played across her lips. “Did someone mention ma name?” She nodded her head at the broken back door. “Ah’d get that fixed if ah were you. Anyone could walk in. Now, which of ye baw−bags is gonna tell me how to find that bastard, Steven Wilkinson?”

Mark and Paul’s reaction was instantaneous. Paul hurled his mug of coffee straight at Connie, while Mark got up from the table, grabbed the arm holding the pistol, pushing it away from his friends, and aimed a punch at her face in a single, sinuous movement. Connie Hamilton, however, seemed to have been expecting this. She ducked under the path of the coffee cup, twisted her arm free of Mark’s grip then lashed out at him with a vicious backhand blow that sent him flying across the table to collide with Phil.

“If ye lads want ta play rough, then ah’m more than happy ta oblige.”

Rick had backed away as soon as Connie had appeared. He could barely keep his rage under control. The bitch who had slaughtered Olivia had dared to come here. To break into his home and threaten him. His hands reached behind him and pulled open one of the kitchen drawers. As the woman advanced on Paul, his hand closed around the familiar grip of a pistol. He thumbed off the safety catch and swung the weapon out from behind him, then put a bullet straight between Connie Hamilton’s eyes.

The back of Connie’s head exploded in a shower of blood, bone and brains, and she flew backwards, landing in a bloody heap against Rick’s dishwasher.

Mark got to his feet and looked at his friend. “What the fuck, Rick? Where the hell did you get that Beretta?”

Rick’s sneered. “You going to arrest me, Mark?” He walked around the table and shot the prone body twice more in the head. “In case you hadn’t noticed, I just saved our lives.”

Paul got to his feet and put his hand on Rick’s arm. “No one’s disputing that, mate, but you just killed someone in your own kitchen with an illegal firearm. Put the gun down, okay? Then we can work out how the hell we’re going to explain this mess.”

Rick looked at his friend and felt the rage drain out of him. He felt sick, and he knew that there would be consequences for what he’d just done, but the truth of the matter was that he didn’t care. He lowered the pistol, engaging the safety catch. “Fuck it. It’ll be worth doing time knowing that bitch is dead.”

Phil and Mark disentangled themselves and got to their feet. Mark cast a disdainful look at the remains of Connie Hamilton before turning back to his friend. “No one’s going to get sent down, Rick. We just need to get our story straight. We can say that the gun was hers, and that you got it away from her. Right, Phil?”

Phil said nothing at first, then, after a couple of seconds, nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s exactly what happened. We’ll just make sure that her prints are on the Beretta. But once this mess is cleared up, Rick, you and I are going to have a very long conversation about what you were doing with a cocked and loaded pistol in your kitchen drawer. Okay?”

Rick’s hands began to shake, and he put the pistol on the granite worktop. “Okay, Phil. Thanks.”

“Well, isn’t it nice ta see the police lookin’ out for each other and coverin’ up evidence?”

All four men turned to see the corpse of Connie Hamilton get to her feet. The bones in her ruined skull crunched back into place before their eyes, and the three bullet holes in her face closed up. She cricked her neck and smiled at the police officers. “Looks like you lads wanna play rough after all. Now ye fuckers are gonna see ma bad side.”

The bones in Connie’s face warped and shifted, elongating into a muzzle, while sets of razor−sharp fangs burst through her gums. The raincoat fell to the floor, revealing her naked form beneath. Her skin bulged as the bones beneath shattered and reformed, while thick orange fur burst from her pores, covering her skin like a flowing tide of serpents.

Phil grabbed Rick’s shoulder and yelled into his face. “Run.”

All four men bolted for the front door, only to find it locked. As Rick fumbled with the key, a deep, guttural growl came from the kitchen.

Mark cast an anxious look over his shoulder. “Any time about now would be good, mate.”

The lock opened with a welcome click, and the men tumbled outside. The lights of Mark’s range rover flashed as he unlocked the doors with his key fob, and they bundled into the vehicle. Mark started the engine, and the car screeched away from Rick’s house. Rick, Phil and Paul looked back at the house, expecting something from their worst nightmares to come bursting through the front door and pursue them down the street, but there was no movement from within. Rick tried to calm his breathing: turning to Phil he said “So…silver bullets?”

***

14th December 2008
.
Naver Cottage, Kinbrace. 12.55.

John crept up the stairs with a steaming mug of tea and a sugar bowl balanced on a wooden tray. He reached the first floor and stopped for a moment, unsure of himself. His dealings with members of the opposite sex had always been limited to work colleagues, and while he’d experienced disagreements on various projects he’d worked on, he’d never been in a situation like this before. He felt as if he were walking through a minefield, where the slightest misstep could cause a catastrophic explosion. The last thing he wanted to do was upset Marie more, but at this point he wasn’t sure if that was even possible. He only knew that he had to try. He put the tray down on the floor and knocked twice on the door.

“Marie?”

Marie’s disembodied voice floated out from behind the door. “Piss off, John.”

He sighed. This was not going to be as easy as he’d hoped. “Look, Marie. I’m really sorry about earlier. Can we talk about it? I made you a cup of tea.”

“You do realise that I’m armed?”

Truth be told, John had forgotten about the crate of weaponry in Marie’s room, and a momentary flash of fear made his legs go weak. “You’re not going to shoot me through the door. You’d lose your deposit on the cottage for one thing. And you’d have to clean the mess up afterwards.”

The door swung open and Marie glared out from the darkened room at him. The skin around her eyes was red and puffy, with dark streaks of mascara running down her cheeks. Her hands were fixed firmly to her hips and she did not look in the least bit pleased to see him. “Here’s a little pointer for you, John. You should never piss off an upset woman who has access to firearms.” She glanced down at the tray, then back up to John. “No biscuits?”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. Which ones do you want? I think we have some chocolate ones in the kitchen.”

Marie bent over and picked up the tray. “Don’t worry about it.” She put the tea down on her bedside table, turned back to John, who was still skulking in the corridor. “Okay, say what you have to say, then fuck off. I’ve got some packing to do.”

John’s heart sank, but he tried to keep his expression neutral. “Can I come in?”

Marie huffed and rolled her eyes. “I suppose so.” She sat on the bed and put two heaped teaspoons of sugar into the tea. John followed, sitting on a chair in the corner.

“Well?”

“Look, Marie. I’m really sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean it. You just got me mad and then the words came out. It was a shitty thing to say, and I wish that I could take it all back. I’d be dead without you, and if you leave, then I’ll either be dead or back in police custody within a week. I need you.”

Marie took a sip of her tea, fixing John with a glare that could strip paint. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt me? I risked everything to save you. I gave up everything and everyone that I love, so that I could save your life, and you repay me by acting like an arsehole, and then throwing it all back in my face. How do you think that makes me feel?”

John’s face flushed scarlet and, despite the snow falling outside and the chill in the air, he felt uncomfortably warm. He struggled to come up with some answer that would placate the angry woman, but the best he could manage was, “erm…I…I mean…”

Marie didn’t wait for him to finish his reply. “And then, after acting like a first class prick, you think that bringing me a cup of tea will somehow make it all better? Did you really think that was going to help?”

“Look, I know that I’ve been acting a bit off, but the last month hasn’t exactly been easy on me either. My head is all over the place. I mean, this whole thing is just insane and, if I’m honest, you scare the shit out of me sometimes.”

Marie couldn’t help but laugh at this. “I scare you? I’m not the one who turns into a seven foot tall monster. I’m just a normal, boring woman.”

“Are you kidding me? You know all this James Bond crap, and you carry a box full of guns and ammo around in the back of your car. You’re a trained killer, and I honestly don’t know how you’re going to react in any given situation. What part of that isn’t frightening?”

She shook her head. “That’s not everything I am, though. Yes, I’ve been trained, but really, how different is that to someone who’s been in the army or something? That’s what I used to do. It’s not who I am. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The guilt that had been building within John threatened to drown him. “I don’t know what else to say, Marie. I’m so, so sorry.”

She took another sip from her tea. “Yeah, well, it didn’t help that you were right. I know that I fucked up, John. I should have just come up to you the second you arrived back in High Moor and explained things. I was just worried that you might not react well, given your last encounter with the pack, and I wanted to talk to you like a normal person before I brought all of that other stuff up. Maybe I just wanted to feel like a regular girl, having a drink with a boy she liked, for a while. Everything that happened was my fault.”

John risked getting up and placed a tentative hand on Marie’s shoulder. “No, that’s crap. Malcolm got infected before I ran into you, and even if you hadn’t tried to flush me out of hiding, it was only going to be a matter of time before I had another episode. That night when you were eating Malcolm’s dog, my wolf almost got free. I only just managed to lock myself up in time. I don’t blame you for any of this. You’ve only tried to do what you thought was best for me. Well, apart from that time where you snapped my neck and left me twitching on the basement floor.”

“I was wondering how long it was going to take you to bring that up.”

“Well, you did break my neck, while I was trying to rescue you. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?”

The corner of Marie’s mouth twitched into a half−smile. “What are you moaning about? You got better, didn’t you?”

John couldn’t help but chuckle. “I suppose I did. Are we okay?”

“Yeah, we’re okay. I couldn’t leave you out here to fend for yourself, could I. Without my ‘James Bond crap’, you wouldn’t last five minutes. Now come here and give me a fucking hug.”

John sat next to her, and gathered her into his arms, ignoring the pain that flared across his wounds as she pushed against him. The warmth of her body against him was pleasant, and unexpected. He didn’t think he’d been this close to another human being in twenty years, and he was beginning to realise what he’d been missing. Then he felt something stir beneath the fabric of his jeans, and he broke the embrace, feeling a vague embarrassment. “So, what’s our next move? As lovely as this place is, I don’t think we can hide out here forever.”

“No, we need to get the hell out of the country, but if I’m honest, I haven’t decided where yet. We can’t stay in Europe, or go to Russia, because it would only be a matter of time before the pack tracked us down. Unfortunately, most of the other continents are risky as well. America is a possibility, as long as we can keep away from their werewolves. Africa and Asia are complete non−starters.”

“How come?”

“Do you really think that werewolves are the only things out there? Every culture on the planet has its own shape changer myths, and that’s before you get started on the demons, vampires and God knows what else. Supernatural beasties don’t tend to play well with others, and are territorial as hell. One sniff of a werewolf and they’d come down on us like a ton of shit.”

John exhaled and felt a hard knot of worry form in his stomach. “That doesn’t leave us with much. Antarctica, maybe?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of Australia, but we can leave Antarctica on the table if you like the snow that much.”

“Australia does sound like a better option. So, they don’t have any were−kangaroos or were−koalas that we need to worry about?”

Marie smiled. “Not as far as I know, but we’re getting a bit ahead of ourselves. Before we go anywhere, we need to get you sorted out.”

“What do you mean?”

Her smile twisted into an evil grin. “Basic training. It’s time you learned how to be a proper werewolf.”

***

14th December 2008
.
Edinburgh Airport. 16.05.

Gregorz took a sip of his coffee and picked at the croissant he’d been persuaded to buy. He didn’t have much of an appetite, and he was still a little shocked at the price. In Moscow, he could have eaten a three course meal for what the drink and pastry had just cost him. Daniel had not said much since they’d arrived, seemingly content to read his newspaper. His friend’s silence was making him uncomfortable.

“Anything interesting happening?”

Daniel looked up and shook his head. “The news is filled with Simpson’s escape and Connie’s little escapade. They don’t have any real leads so far, but that’s not stopped the journalists from forming their own assumptions. Most of it is rubbish, but there are one or two articles that are a little too close to the truth for comfort.”

“Let them speculate all they want. Once Michael and the others arrive, we can deal with Simpson and get out of here.”

“You really think that it’s going to be that easy? We’ve underestimated Simpson before, and now that Marie is with him there’s no telling what little surprises we’ll encounter. I don’t like this, Gregorz. It feels like we’re losing control of things. Michael shouldn’t be coming here. He’s too emotionally involved to think clearly. And I’m not sure about whether leaving Oskar up there on his own was the best idea either. He’s not been the same since Troy and Gabriela’s death. I think he’s lost his nerve.”