Wolf in Shadow-eARC (8 page)

The subway lights illuminated the tunnel in a friendly, pale light that swirled around her. She could not imagine why she had thought the tunnel dark and uninviting. She felt light-headed and warm, the night chill entirely dispelled.

Each breath slid in and out of her mouth like a strawberry-flavoured hallucinogenic drug. The air fizzed the way a carbonated drink sparkles on the tongue. Tension drained from her body and she felt truly content for the first time in, well, she couldn’t remember when. The wariness that was so much a part of her character evaporated like overnight frost in the morning sun.

The scent from the twisted posy in her buttonhole smelled of a summer’s herb garden. She hadn’t noticed that before. Enticing snatches of different perfumes intermingled, but the aroma grew stronger and more alkaloid until it irritated her nostrils. She shook her head and pulled at the posy, but it was stuck fast. Another wave of warmth flowed over her and she forgot the minor annoyance. Her fingers and toes tingled as if she was pleasantly drunk.

The couple walked towards her. She had almost forgotten them, so distracted was she by the waves of pleasure curling gently backwards and forwards through her body, but now she could see them clearly. They glowed with vitality, tall, slim, and achingly beautiful. The man wore a dark, tailored suit set off by a striking cream shirt and pink tie. The woman was draped in a long blue gown that clung tightly to her body in all the places a gown should cling. They were more than just beautiful; they were elegant, sophisticated.

A small, still rational part of her mind wondered why a man and woman dressed for the opera or a club Up West should be walking under a road in East London, but euphoria submerged the thought.

Something stirred deep inside her, something uneasy at events, something immune to the enchantment of beauty, something indifferent to charisma, something predatory.

The woman was raven-haired with astonishing purple-tinged eyes that shone in the gloom. Her face was perfectly symmetrical, her skin flawless, her teeth as even and white as a Californian game-show hostess. Her companion was also dark with knowing grey eyes. These people were so perfect, so metropolitan, that Rhian felt unfit to share the same world. She felt cheap, dingy, and malformed in comparison. Rhian knew she was spoiled goods, shop-worn and stained.

The man beckoned her so she focused on him, drinking in his masculinity. He summoned her into his glowing presence, a prince showing kindness to the scullery maid. They understood, these beautiful people, and accepted her despite the grossness of her imperfections. She stretched out her arms walking into their embrace.

The posy in her coat lapel caught fire, burning with a fierce green intensity that flung stinging vapour into her face. She inhaled in surprise and fumes seared her lungs. Rhian turned away, coughing fiercely, unable to catch her breath. The burning sensation spread through her body like nerve toxin—and the world twisted and changed around her.

The man and woman were still beautiful, but their beauty was terrible. They no longer looked entirely human. Their bodies were too thin, too tall, like cocaine-fueled supermodels. Their arms and legs were too long, their skin impossibly white, and the woman’s eyes shone with a lilac intensity that could not possibly be natural. They gazed at her hungrily, without a trace of human compassion or sympathy.

Alarmed, she backed away. The man’s face twisted. He made a curious gesture with his left hand and Rhian froze like a bug in amber. Her mind disconnected from her body. In her head she struggled, but her limbs refused to obey. The couple smiled cruelly and moved ever so slowly towards her, the woman reaching out to touch.

A wolf howl rang in Rhian’s head, reverberating through her mind, drowning out the world. Brutal power welled from within, freeing her. She slapped the woman’s hand away and aimed a kick at her knee. The woman grimaced angrily and made a twisting motion with her hand. Something invisible, something magic, picked Rhian up, slamming her against the wall and knocking the breath from her body.

The woman laughed viciously. “This one is strong. Can you imagine how well she will taste?”

“After you, my love,” the man said.

The woman leaned towards Rhian with a wide smile of anticipation. Rhian gasped for air, trying to fend her off with an outstretched arm.

There was a flash. The air in the tunnel thumped against Rhian’s chest like a car tire had exploded. Rhian swallowed, trying to clear her ears. She smelt fireworks, and an irrelevant thought curled around the edge of her mind that someone had let off a Guy Fawkes’ banger.

The woman looked puzzled and uncertain, like the rules had changed halfway through the game. A trickle of blood welled out of the side of her mouth and ran slowly down her chin. To Rhian, everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. There was another loud bang and the woman’s body jerked.

A man in a long dark overcoat stood behind the glowing couple, right arm extended like an Olympic pistol shooter. Rhian could not work out where he had sprung from. He had materialized out of thin air. The gun in his hand fired again and again. Rhian saw flesh torn from the woman by the light of the flashes from the discharging weapon. She pushed the injured woman away, sending her spinning towards the shooter.

The gunman was so fast that Rhian barely saw him move. He caught the woman’s hair and forced her head down, lowering his head over the back of her neck like a lover. Rhian caught a glimpse of canine teeth and heard bones crack. Her head lolled back, and the gunman tore at her throat with long fangs before dropping the twitching body to the floor.

The woman’s companion screamed in fury. He punched towards the gunman, not even trying to touch him. Nonetheless, the gunman reeled back as if he had been hit by an invisible magical fist. His body spread-eagled against the wall tiles. His gun struck the floor with a metallic clang. The magician snarled and raised his hand while making a complex pattern with his fingers.

Rhian had no idea what was happening, but it was manifestly clear who was her enemy. She leapt on the magician’s back, grabbing at his hand to spoil whatever he was doing. The man responded by flipping his other hand back towards her like he was dislodging a fly. Invisible magic punched her hard in the face. She fell backwards, the cold, unyielding concrete jarring her spine. Pressure built on her mind, the wolf awake, the wolf demanding to be set free.

The gunman scooped up his weapon and pointed it at the man. Rhian saw him press the trigger, but nothing happened. The gunman pulled desperately at the rear of the gun as the magician made a series of passes. The air flickered, images forming like shadows from decayed films. Light gushed from the magician’s hands, streaming away in coils, solidifying into a fluorescent purple cable.

The magician lashed at the gunman, forcing him to roll over desperately to avoid the strike. Concrete exploded into dust and steam where the whip scoured the ground. The gunman half rose to his feet and leapt forward. He was inhumanly fast, but the magician was faster, his whip catching the gunman in mid-air.

Rhian realised with a cold clarity that left no room for doubt that the magician would kill the gunman and then her.

“All right, you bitch, do it,” Rhian said, folding her arms in across her breasts, fists clenched.

The magician turned his head, giving her a curious look.

The wolf exploded from within, its triumphant howl vibrating through her body. Rhian pulled off her coat, knowing what was coming. Her muscles contracted into tetanus, twisting her back like a strung bow. Her clothes ripped and shredded, corroded by the magic flowing over her body. She dropped onto her hands, screaming with pain. Her head rotated back into her neck and an invisible hand pulled her face out by the jaw, the bones and ligaments realigning. Something terrible was happening to her legs. Her skin writhed as if covered in burning napalm. She screamed and screamed, but the sound that came out of her throat was a howl that filled the subway with throbbing sound.

Her sight failed.

When she could see, her world was monochrome and flattened. The pools of bright light surrounded by darkness were gone. Everything was at much the same level of illumination, as if she wasn’t seeing with light at all.

The world was alive with smells. Human traces were everywhere in the subway but her nose told the wolf that no people were near. The things in front of her were not people. Her hearing was acute, detecting even the low rumble of the cars through the roof of the subway.

Rhian orientated the wolf on the man with the magic whip. The wolf did not intellectualize. To think was to act. She bounded forward, growling.

The magician turned to her, grey eyes widening in shock. He started to make a gesture with his free hand but the wolf sprang. She clamped her teeth on the prey’s wrist, biting down hard. Her heavy body spun him around until his arm broke with a satisfying crack. Bones crunched in the wolf’s jaws, and she heard the prey gasp.

The magician lashed the wolf with his whip of light, scoring the animal’s fur and splashing blood from the hard-packed muscle underneath. The wolf howled in anger, pain only spurring her on. Gathering her rear legs under her body, she pounced again. She crashed into the prey’s chest, knocking him over backwards. The whip lashed the subway ceiling, smashing a light cover in a spray of sparks that cascaded over the combatants like wedding confetti.

The damaged light strobed, freezing the wolf and the man in a series of stationary images like an old movie played at the wrong speed. Flashes of light freeze-framed shadows on the subway wall like echoes from another universe.

The wolf chomped down on the prey’s throat. Strange, metallic-tasting blood sprayed into her mouth, matting the fur around her head. The prey struggled, but the wolf tightened her grip remorselessly, shutting off air and tearing flesh. The wolf worried and shook the throat long after the prey stopped moving, long after the last air gurgled from the bloody mess.

The wolf dropped the corpse and stalked stiffly to where the downed gunman lay on the ground. He shuffled back on his bottom and elbows until stopped by the subway wall, where he ejected the clip from his pistol. Fumbling in his coat pocket, he produced a replacement and rammed it home, pulling back the slide to ready the weapon. The wolf watched with interest, fascinated by the metallic clicks and machine-oil smell.

The gunman pointed the pistol unwaveringly at the wolf. She ignored the weapon, moving closer to him, growling deep in her belly.

“Good doggy,” said the man. “Sit!”

The wolf sniffed at the man’s wounds. They smelled healthy, so he would probably survive. The man held his hand out for her to scent. The wolf considered killing him, but he offered no provocation, sitting submissively like a cub being held to account by an alpha female. The wolf was bored. She licked the man’s hand, tasting him.

“That’s a good doggy,” he said, running his hand along her muzzle to scratch the fur behind her ear.

The hand with the gun never wavered in its aim, but the wolf did not seem to understand the threat posed by the weapon. Rhian pushed upwards like a swimmer surfacing from a dive into a dark sea-pool. Changes coursed through her body, and the pain began. She screamed until merciful oblivion descended.

CHAPTER 6
FRIENDS REUNITED

Major Jameson, retired, had faced death many times in the pursuit of an illustrious career in Her Britannic Majesty’s Guards. The IRA, various African militias, Serb gunmen, Afghan guerrillas and the United States Air Force had made determined attempts to kill him from time to time. During his time in The Commission, supernatural entities had tried to do things to him that made dying positively restful, but he had never been as gut-wrenchingly terrified by a daemon before.

“For pity’s sake slow down, you blood-crazed lunatic,” he said.

The car phone rang with an irritating beep-beep. Jameson considered ignoring it but duty won out, forcing him to trip the switch.

“Jameson, can you hear me?” asked a precise, prissy voice that was immediately identifiable.

Bloody Randolph! That was all he needed to make the day complete.

“Yes,” he said.

“Oh, right . . .” said Randolph.

“Bloody Hell, watch for that lorry, you mad sucker,” said Jameson.

“Letting Karla drive?” Randolph asked.

Whatever else he said was drowned out by horns. Karla forced Jameson’s Jaguar across four lanes of traffic and through a red light.

“Karla, could you pull over for a moment?” asked Jameson calmly, displaying admirable control.

He hung off the seat belt. Four huge, computer-controlled disk brakes slammed the big sports car to a halt. The driver of a white transit van right behind them failed to match the maneuver. It spun into a bollard with a screech of tortured rubber and a great clang. The van’s left wing lost the unequal contest with cast iron cemented into concrete.

“Okay, Randolph, I can talk now,” said Jameson.

“We have a situation,” said Randolph.

“Another one?” asked Jameson.

“The Wiccas are in hysterics here. All the trips have blown,” said Randolph.

“You mad bitch, you could have killed me!” White van man appeared at Karla’s open window.

“What’s up?” asked Jameson.

“You silly cow, think you’re something special because you drive a poncy Jag. I’ve a good mind to haul you out of there and give you a good slapping,” said white van man.

Jameson glanced up from the phone. A huge, shaven-headed lout, with “*h*a*t*e*” tattooed on his knuckles, jabbed aggressively at Karla. His forefinger poked her arm.

“Really?” asked Karla, her mouth opening wide in a grin.

She threw open her door, and there was a thud as white van man absorbed the impact. Jameson winced, thinking of the delicate, multilayered paintwork that was the pride of Jaguar’s body shop. He made a grab for her, but she lithely avoided him, slipping from the car.

“We picked up the trace of an active insertion zone somewhere in your area. We think that it’s similar to the previous intrusions. The trace was followed by a pulse of magical radiation across the whole of East London. It’s a Three.”