Chapter Ten

He made his way home in the pouring rain. Iris had offered to bring him home in her car, of course, as he had been expecting, but he told her he liked to walk in the rain. In truth it didn't matter to him either way; he was used to the cold and the damp by now. But he did not want the woman knowing where he lived, and in any case, one look at the clanking metal box she called a car told him that it wouldn't have been able to support his weight. It seemed held together purely through rust and willpower.

Despite his thick coat and boots, by the time he got home he was soaked to the skin and shivering. The rain had been heavier than he had judged, the walk longer. The sky overhead had not cleared up in the slightest; it had only darkened with the approach of night. Iris had been away more than a couple of hours, and Greyback thought perhaps he would be stuck with the children forever, and was considering which one of them it would have made more sense to off first when she finally did arrive, looking tired and strained (he had been thinking about the little one, whose name he had forgotten, because the others might have believed he was just taking a nap).

He had meant to stop off at the shop on the way back to collect more of the meat, but he wasn't really in the mood for it. He thought he might call Ralph in as he worked the next day to carry it. He was stiff and his fingers were frozen and numb; he didn't much fancy the effort of unlocking, dismembering, packaging and locking up again only to have to haul twenty pounds of dead flesh over miles of muddy country tracks.

The main room was empty when he entered. The door was locked with the same heavy old padlock that had been on it since they'd arrived, which seemed to keep intruders away, but Greyback wished his magic was powerful enough to cast some sort of spell that hid the place from Muggle eyes. He wouldn't have minded taking in exploring children, but he didn't want the place to gain any sort of reputation.

The clock on the mantle, which had only one hand, ticked forlornly, and its sounds seemed very small in the room. The fire was smouldering and the room had gone cold. Greyback had been away, it seemed, for longer than he had thought. He sat heavily in the armchair by the fire, so old the stuffing was leaking out and it no longer seemed to have any colour, and tugged his boots off by the tops. They were cold and slippery, and the water inside sloshed around and seemed to suck in his feet before they came off with a wet slurping sound. He tossed them aside to where the fire was, and pulled his wand out of his robes to light it again. With any luck, they'd be dry by the morning, and his overcoat, too.

When the fire was roaring again, he hung the coat up next to it, along with his robes and socks and everything else, and then slumped back in the chair, picking at his teeth with a fingernail. He wondered what the others had done today – nothing useful, probably, he thought bitterly. They hardly seemed capable of it any more. They needed him so much more than he needed them, it seemed, and he cursed himself once more for letting the best of his lot be driven out of their home by the wizards. But damned if he was going to let them starve whatever happened. This would only be temporary, he thought, as he leaned deep into what remained of the stuffing of the armchair. Things would soon be back on track; they'd have food, and they'd have more brothers and sisters. They'd be legion, he thought sleepily, perhaps, after a bit, once he'd shown the Normals what was what and got themselves back on their feet...

A moth hovered around his head and he swatted it away with a hand that felt too heavy. His eyes were drooping shut; his fingers were still numb and cold but prickling, warmed by the glow of the fire. The moth fluttered away in front of him, nearer to the flames, and he watched it until it was little more than a dark spot dancing in the red glow, and he fell asleep dreaming of children's throats between his teeth.

When he woke up the birds were squawking outside and Faolan was chewing on one of his boots. The fire had long gone cold, and he was all too aware of the empty chill of the old building. He reached for his cloak – dry, for the most part – and pulled it around him. Faolan looked up from where he was crouched. Greyback looked down at him with eyes still crusty from sleep.

"Enjoying that, are you?" Faolan mm-ed through a mouthful of leather. "Act like a common dog, why don't you, that'll help our cause."

"His teeth are still coming through, Greyback," said Ettie's voice from behind. She spoke softly, as thought frightened she might be disturbing him. "His back ones. And it's the full moon in a couple of days. He needs—"

"Don't tell me what he needs," said Greyback, standing up and pulling on the cloak. He didn't look at Ettie. "I'm going for a shit."

He strode past her and headed up the stairs. Faolan turned his eyes on Ettie, wide and confused. "I don't think he likes me."

"Of course he does," said Ettie, but she wasn't looking at him, she was looking to where Greyback had headed towards the toilets. "But he's... under stress. We're just trying to get ourselves sorted out right now. Why don't you go outside and play? I'll have a talk with him, ask him to slow things down a bit, yeah?"

Faolan's brow furrowed, but he stood up. "I hate being the youngest," he huffed, as he pushed past her, leaving the gnawed boot behind him.

Ettie barely glanced at him as he went out of the door and into the garden. It was still drizzling rain, but they were used to the damp by now, and he was muddy enough anyway that it would hardly matter about getting him cleaned up later.

She was more focused on where Greyback had gone, watching the dirtied archways with some trepidation. She wrung her hands together, dragging her nails up and down the exposed skin of her arms. There were bumps and ridges there from other times she'd been unable to stop herself from clawing at them; it wasn't something she could help usually – she did it when she was anxious – and it certainly wasn't something that she could prevent herself doing when she had transformed. And she was anxious a lot, especially around the time of the full moon. It seemed to put everyone on edge, and she wondered if it was just the travelling and the upset that had irritated Greyback, combined with the cycle of the moon. He wasn't usually so bad. Usually, she trusted him, and until now, she'd always thought he'd be able to look after her and the rest of his pack, if he wanted to call them that.

He didn't call them that so much any more, though, she reflected, taking a seat in his armchair and gnawing on her fingertips to shorten the nails. There were too many of them now, it seemed. They were more than a pack now, he seemed to think. He'd told her more than once that they were greater than either common wolves or common people – they were an army, and they would conquer. She wasn't quite sure about that. She'd been keen on it when they'd first met, when she'd been barely more than a child and when she'd had no home and when Greyback had seemed like the light at the end of a long, dark tunnel – but she didn't think she held the idea of conquering in such high esteem now. Mostly, she just thought she'd like somewhere warm to sleep at night, and somewhere to call home. Security. The chair was still a little warm from Greyback having slept in it, but it wasn't hers. Nothing was really hers. Even her own body wasn't hers; no matter how Greyback tried to spin it, once a month she lost control, and even when she was just human there was always someone asking to use it and now...

She licked the remnants of the meat that Greyback had brought home from her hands. It was mingled with salt and dirt but part of her still tasted like the butcher, and for a moment she thought about the boy in the cellar. No, the body in the cellar: he wasn't a boy, not any more. He was a dead carcass now, and he'd never really been any good in the first place, she reminded herself. Just a stupid human boy. Humans were nothing. Nothing. Not fit to lick their boots.

At least, that was Greyback's line of thinking, and what Greyback thought, she did not like to disagree with. Yes, he had been kind to her, and he had never hurt her, and she was without doubt that he would do anything in his power to protect her – or any of the others – from whatever may happen to them. But she had always felt a little uneasy around him, and in the past few weeks, he had done nothing to quell her fears. Not that he knew she had them (or, she didn't think he did); she felt guilty and sick for even having the vaguest notion that he might ever hurt her. He was her father and her protector, and it was hard to forget that she would be sleeping in doorways without him, tossed from bed to bed and begging for her next meal. What he wanted to do seemed too ambitious and too sick to even be possible.

Stop it, she told herself. He knows what he is doing. He's clever and experienced and strong, and you're just a silly little girl.

In the toilets, Greyback stretched and yawned and picked a scrap of meat out of his back teeth with his fingernail. He thought he might find Loki later, see if he was feeling more co-operative today. He'd need him with him if he didn't want to start raising eyebrows. He shook himself, trying to get the damp away. It was mostly sweat; he'd dried out in the night. Even his mouth was dry. He'd been breathing through it rather than his nose. He hoped a cold wasn't coming on. That was inconvenient at the best of times, but at the full moon it was downright debilitating.

He splashed his face with cold water to get the crustiness out, and cupped the water in his hands to lap at it. It was nothing short of euphoric, feeling it soak into his tongue, and he gulped it down with urgency. It wasn't clean, but it was cold, and there was plenty of it, and as long as there was food and water and a roof over their heads and the human beings in the palm of their hands, it was enough.

Ettie look up, startled, when he walked out. He'd used his cloak to mop up the excess water on his face and was carrying it in a damp bundle in his hands. He tossed it by the fireside and pulled on his shirt instead. Because it was black, it still looked clean, and the fire had dried the water from the rain and the sweat from last night from it. It wouldn't need to be washed for a while – at least, not until it started to smell, he thought, and he sniffed at it himself, though he could smell nothing through a nose that felt too thick.

Ettie watched him get dressed with wide eyes. "What are you doing today?" she asked, as he searched the fire side for his wand and pocketed it. Greyback shrugged.

"Looking for Loki. We're going to work in town. I'd ask for your assistance but I don't think that would be worth much. I can't see what you did for this place while I was gone yesterday, so if you want to make yourself useful, I suggest you do."

"I'm sorry about before, Greyback." She averted her eyes, and was chewing on her knuckles. Her arms were covered in welts, Greyback noticed, some of them fresh. She did it when she was nervous – but she always did worry too much. More than the others, anyway, except perhaps Loki.

"Don't let it happen again," said Greyback. "Stick to what you've been told in the future; now how about that? I've told you what I need you to do. I need all of you behind me. I cannot exact my cold revenge by myself." He smiled, and his tone was mocking, but both of them knew he was far from jest.

"But do the kids—Do the kids have to be involved?"

"Yes!" he snarled, bearing down on her, and she cowered in the seat. His breath was hot and stinking as it always was. "The children, you silly girl, are the only way to make them understand."

"But the children—"

"Are innocent, but they are human. Merlin, Ettie, how many times must I say it? They – are – collateral – damage." His nails were digging into the chair on either side of her. "They don't matter."

"But they could be werewolves, too."

"Could be, but are not."

"But what makes the human children different than ours? Why can't we teach them—?"

"They will not be taught," he growled. "Not these ones. These ones will be slaughtered, and we will feast on them, and you will assist me or so help me, I will throw you back into the street where you came from, do you understand me?"

She didn't know what it was that did it. All she knew was that before she had had time to consider, she had lashed out at him, her bitten-down nails catching him in the face just below his eye. He gave a roar of pain and stumbled backwards a moment, just long enough for her to leap from the chair and to cower behind it, using it as something of a shield between the two of them.

"What the fuck do you think you're playing at?" he said softly, and there was a poisonous anger beneath his words.

"I can't kill them!" she yelped, her voice shriller than she had intended it. "Not the children! I don't care if they're human! I can't! I won't!"

"You will!"

"No!"

"This is a dangerous game, you stupid girl. You'll do as I say."

"No, I won't! Not this time. I can't—I don't want to."

"And why not?" He was looming over her again, and the chair, she knew, wasn't going to do much to stop him if he decided to lunge. He was much bigger and heavier than it was, and all she could do was back away, and to try and make herself look as small as possible in comparison. "For your own sake you'll tell me why, girl."

"Because I'm pregnant, Greyback!" It came out as a screech. "Because I'm pregnant, and I think it might be human."

There was a stunned silence for a moment, and Greyback suddenly seemed much smaller. "It won't be. It'll be like us."

"You don't know that," she hissed.

"I'll fix it."

"Fix it?"

"Bite it."

"I know what you mean. But what's the difference, Greyback? What's the difference between this baby and the children you're going to kill before you're done here?" She hadn't realised when she had started crying, but she found it difficult to speak, and her eyes were swimming with the tears. "What'll stop you killing this one?"

He looked at her as though she was stupid. "Because this one is mine."