Wolf Island (5 page)

Shark has no problem talking his way through. A few words with the commanding officer and we’re being escorted past the teams
of baying news reporters to a spot in the city where we’re free to go our own way. The Disciples have contacts in some pretty
high places.

First things first — we’re exhausted and need to sleep. We find the nearest hotel and book three connecting rooms. The receptionist
regards us warily and almost refuses us entry, but when Shark produces a platinum credit card and says he’ll pay up front,
and that he wants their best rooms, the man behind the desk undergoes a swift transformation.

I’d like to talk through events with Shark and Meera, but both disappear to their beds as soon as we’ve tipped the bellboy
and shut the doors, so I’ve no choice but to follow their lead.

The room’s large, but it feels cramped after a year spent sleeping wild — if not often — beneath vast demonic skies. I open
the windows and stick my head out, breathing in fresh air as I replay the scenes from the hospital. Why the hell did I volunteer
to stay behind? I could be with Dervish now, catching up, taking care of him. Instead I’ve promised to track down Prae Athim
and put a stop to whatever’s going on between Lord Loss and the Lambs. Just
how
I’m going to do that is a mystery. I spoke before I thought, like an overeager hero. I’ve been hanging around Beranabus too
long!

Withdrawing, I decide the plans can wait. I go to the bathroom, then undress and slide beneath the soft bedcovers. I’m worried
I won’t be able to sleep, that I’ll lie awake all night. But within a minute my eyelids go heavy, and seconds later it’s lights
out.

Breakfast in bed is heavenly. I eat like a ravenous savage, bolting down sausages, bacon, eggs, mushrooms. And toast! How
can a few burnt bits of bread smeared with churned-up cow’s milk taste so delicious?

There’s a knock on one of the connecting doors while I’m mopping up the juice from my baked beans. “C’m’ in,” I grunt.

Meera appears like an angel, in an ivory-white nightdress. Washed, manicured, the works. You’d never guess that twelve hours
earlier she’d been elbow-deep in demon blood.

“Wow!” I exclaim, dropping the toast and clapping.

She beams and gives me a twirl, then perches on the edge of my bed and picks up the toast. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” I grin, though I’d have bitten the hand off anybody else who tried to take my last piece.

“I’ve been up for hours,” she says.

“You should have woken me.”

“Why? Did you want a manicure too?”

“Very funny. But I could have done with a haircut.”

“That’s for sure,” she sniffs. “I ordered some clothes for you. I can’t wait to see you in them. I love dressing up boys,
especially fashion-challenged teens.”

“Me? Fashion-challenged? I never used to be.”

“Well, you are now.” She takes my tray and tugs at the bedsheets. “Come on. Chop-chop!”

“Whoah!” I yelp, only just managing to grab on to the sheets in time. “I’m naked under here!”

“That’s OK,” she says. “You sleepwalked into my room last night and did a dance on my rug. I saw it all then.”

I stare at her, more horrified than I’ve been in the face of any demon. Then she winks wickedly and races out of the room
before I batter her to death with a pillow.

Shark’s the last to rise. We hold a conference in his room while he tucks into lunch, wearing a robe that just about covers
his privates.

“So,” he mumbles through a half full mouth. “What’s the plan?”

I scratch my head and smile sheepishly. “I kind of hoped you guys would have one.…”

Shark and Meera share a wry glance.

“I thought you were our leader,” Meera says.

“You set the ball rolling,” Shark agrees. “We just came along for the ride.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I grumble. “It was easy in the demon universe. We cornered demons, beat them up, and sometimes
killed them. It’s different here. I don’t know where to start. How will we find Prae Athim? It seemed like the simplest thing
in the world last night, but now…”

“Not such a big shot in the cold light of day, is he?” Shark jeers.

“Don’t tease him,” Meera tuts. “It was brave of him to volunteer.”

“But stupid.” Shark points a thick finger at me. “What use are you to us? Why shouldn’t we leave you here and pick you up
when it’s all over?”

Stung, I focus on the bed. The mattress quivers and comes alive. It throws off the startled Shark, then bucks from the bed
and lands on his back, driving him down. He lashes out, bellowing with alarm, but the mattress smashes him flat and pounds
at him relentlessly.

“Enough,” Meera says softly, laying a hand on my shoulder.

I scowl at her, then ease up. I’m sweating slightly.

A bruised Shark gets to his feet, smoothes his robe, and studies me calmly. “OK, I’m impressed. You’re a magician?”

“Yes.”

“How powerful are you?”

I shrug. “I never really tested myself on this world. That trick with the mattress tired me, but I could do a lot more.”

“How much more?” Shark presses.

“No idea,” I answer honestly. “But in the absence of any windows between universes, I’m stronger than any mage we’ll face.”

“I suppose we might as well bring him along,” Shark says grudgingly to Meera.

“Where do we start?” Meera asks. “Do you know where Prae Athim’s based?”

“I never even heard of her before last night,” Shark says. “I knew about the Grady werewolves and the Lambs, but they were
never my problem. Still, this won’t be the first time I’ve gone looking for someone. We’ll find her.”

“We could do with some help,” Meera notes. “They have armed troops, as we saw in Carcery Vale.”

“The Disciples?” Shark asks.

“The Disciples,” Meera agrees.

The pair produce cell phones and start dialing.

The mages aren’t interested in our mission. This is a bad time for humanity. Demons are attempting to cross faster, and in
greater numbers, than ever before. The Disciples are rushed off their feet, dashing from one crisis to another. There have
been six successful crossings this year and more than a dozen foiled attempts. And those are only the recorded attacks — more
probably went unnoticed. Over five hundred people that we know of have died, not including those at the hospital last night.
That’s an average decade’s worth of action.

The Disciples that Shark and Meera chat with over the course of the day don’t care about werewolves or the Lambs. They don’t
even respond when told that Beranabus is involved. Most times, the mere mention of his name is enough to whip them into action.
But not now. We can fight our own battles as far as they’re concerned.

Shark and Meera turn to their other allies when the Disciples fall through. They have a network of contacts — soldiers, politicians,
police officers, doctors, etc. They call on them for support when demons cross and create merry hell. The operatives move
in to clear up the mess, bury the dead, comfort the survivors, kill the story before it spreads.

Meera’s contacts are mostly media types and corporate directors. She calls around, asking about the Lambs, but the Grady executioners
keep a low profile. She learns that they have several worldwide bases, but Prae Athim could be at any of them.

Shark takes a different approach. He phones a guy called Timas Brauss and tells him to come as swiftly as possible. He then
contacts people in armies or who were once soldiers. He sets about assembling a small unit of men and women with a variety
of skills — explosives experts, mechanics, pilots, scuba divers, and more. He won’t need them all, but he puts in place a
large force to draw from. They’re more cooperative than the Disciples. Shark seems to command a lot of respect in military
circles.

The calls continue into the night. It’s the most frustrating day I’ve spent in a long time. There’s nothing I can do except
sit, listen, and run errands for Shark or Meera, fetching them food and drink.

I try to watch TV, but I can’t get comfortable. I’m worried that Shark and Meera will think I’m slacking. Eventually I crawl
into bed, tired and grumpy, thinking I should have stayed in the demon universe. At least I served some bloody good over there!

M
Y
phone rings unexpectedly. Jolted awake, I check the time on the bedside clock — 7:49
AM.
Picking up the phone, I yawn, “Yes?”

“It’s me,” someone says in a strange accent.

“Who?”

A pause. “You’re not Shark.”

“No, I’m Grubbs. Shark’s in the next room. Do you want me to —”

“It doesn’t matter,” he interrupts. “I’m Timas Brauss. Tell the receptionist to let me up.”

A couple of minutes later there’s a knock on my door. I open it to find an incredibly tall, thin man in the corridor. He must
be three inches taller than me. Skinny as a stick insect, with long, bony fingers. Floppy red hair, an even darker shade than
mine. A startled pair of blue eyes, as if he’s in a constant state of shock.

He pushes past me without a word. Looks around the room and up at the ceiling. He’s carrying a couple of laptops and a briefcase.
He sets them down, then drags the desk by the wall out into the middle of the floor and lays his gear on top of it. Fires
up the laptops, takes a few plug-ins out of the briefcase, and connects them up.

“Wi-Fi is a blessing from the gods,” he mutters as I stare at him. “It was hell on Earth when I had to hook these up to ordinary
phone lines. Who are we looking for?”

“A woman called…” I hesitate. “Do you want me to wake Shark?”

Timas shakes his head. “I can work without him. Who are you after?”

“Prae Athim.”

“Spell it.”

When I’ve done that, I tell him she works for an organization called the Lambs. I start to describe the attacks and why we
want to find her, but he holds up a hand. “That is enough information for me to be getting on with,” he says curtly, and bends
over his laptops like a pianist. He’s soon tapping away at a fierce speed, oblivious to all else, working on both computers
at the same time.

Meera wakes before Shark. She’s surprised to find the odd-looking stranger in my room, but says nothing once I’ve told her
in whispers of his approach to business. We eat breakfast, then return to watch Timas Brauss. At one stage I ask if he’d like
anything to eat or drink. He shushes me without looking up.