Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, they own me. Special thanks to Toby Whithouse and BBC3 for the playground. Beta assistance from TJ4ev and Whimsyfox enables (most of) my grammar to pass muster for Hal.
Reviews are love.
Old oak, polished and darkly gleaming, offset the plush red velvet. Candlelight flickered amidst muted sconces, in keeping with the discretionary ambiance of the private club. Richard Turner sipped a tall glass of supper and tried, unsuccessfully, to relax. Restraint had to be used to keep from checking his phone with incessant repetition. Since he was currently avoiding his office, the device was his only tether to his business.
The past two days had been a painful blur that began with the news of the bombing and had gone downhill hence. His time had been spent on the phone, Skype and email, arranging a full property scan to assess the increasingly revealed damages. He had been shocked to discover the extent to which his latent assets had been targeted. London had merely been the last in a progressive string of attacks. Brutal hounds! He should have seen this coming. He had been so pre-occupied with righting the mess of the Old Ones, placating Hetty, and forming the Council - not to mention fretting over Henry's intentions - that he had let their own business fall lax. Fight rings - six of them gone! Each of them had fallen without witnesses or explanation. The meager staff he had placed to oversee each dormant locale were all missing. None had returned his messages.
Within that first sleep-deprived morning his assistant Celine had proven her worth. She had already taken the initiative to deploy investigatory measures before he had returned her calls. At her urging, and due to the convenience, he made a personal detour to Bristol on his return journey from Barry. What he found would soon manifest as a familiar scenario; their caretakers were gone, the post piled up at the door, cups ringed with dehydrated liquid near the tele and stale food in the fridge. Their employee's personal effects were all still in place. The only sign of a struggle was a fine residue of dusty ash settled over the table, and a lingering scent of wolf. Vampires, especially lower-tiered ones, disappeared far too easily. Perhaps he should consider employing more humans. At least then the systematic murder of his staff would leave more evidence with which to work.
Celine had reported four other locations failing to respond. As a precaution, he had sent her away. She needed to avoid the office as well as her flat in the event that all of their properties were under threat, at least until Richard could unravel some leads to find the dogs behind this. The Council, many of whom were clients, had provided them with a safe house, one to which Richard should himself be traveling. His contacts within the London police could only hold back the tide so much.
Richard took another sip of decanted blood and reached for his phone, just as the thing vibrated a pleasant announcement. It wasn't Celine, but another one of his employees. Richard sighed aloud and read the message.
Have news. Meet me at the Horseshoe tonight if you can.
Richard downed the last of his drink and slammed the glass on the table. Duty called.
"And that's why there's no point in wearing your favorite rocketship underpants."
Christa was smiling broadly, won over by Alex's gruff teasing of Adam. The ghost was a sharp match for his gutter wit. Hal cleared his throat from the doorway to the kitchen which caused Christa, who was facing his way, to raise one dark eyebrow. "Um, I'll just go set the table," she said with sudden awkwardness. Alex turned around. Her already bright smile broadened.
"Oh no way!" she chuffed.
Yvonne looked up from the salad she was preparing and tutted, "Adam, really."
"What? He looks hot. Alex appreciates it, am I right?"
Alex punched Adam in the arm, but kept grinning. "I must admit I imagined it. But I never ever expected to see you in skinny jeans." She laughed and went over to wrap her arm around Hal's waist, which appeared all the more slender the way the jeans hugged his hips. He'd have to beat the ladies off with a stick, if he didn't also look so painfully awkward.
Hal just shook his head and sighed. He didn't need to see himself in a mirror to know how absurdly tight Adam's loaned shirt and jeans were. The short shirt sleeves cuffed just over his biceps and the shirt itself threatened to ride up if he moved too much. But the trousers were the worst, hugging every inch of his legs, pressing rather suggestively into certain places. To add insult to injury they were two inches too short, the hem just over his bare ankles. This was almost worse than when he had to dress up for baby Eve's GP.
He was startled by Alex slipping her hand into his back pocket, an action he would have thought impossible. Adam had turned away, carrying the salad bowl into the dining room and Yvonne was busy opening the oven. Alex whispered into his ear, "You look great." Her hand had increased the pressure of the fabric and he seriously began to second guess his choice to forgo Adam's undergarments. "Just don't bend over."
"I highly doubt that I could. Is this seriously popular attire?"
"Been getting hipsters laid for decades now," Alex teased.
"Really Hal, I can find you something more comfortable," Yvonne offered. "I have a clean pair of -"
"No, no. I'm fine. Thanks." The idea of Yvonne dressing him was even worse than what he currently had to contend with. He would make do.
"Well just let me know if you change your mind. Supper is ready."
As he approached the camp, Tom could sense the unmistakable scent of the pack on the afternoon breeze. Last night, their scent had been even more pronounced than it was today.
Skin warmed by campfire had hit him like a punch in the gut, right through to his dormant wolf. His hackles had raised; his cautionary instincts competed with an undeniable curiosity. Irving had smiled warmly, knowing exactly what he was sensing, and led him jovially around a camper-van. Even though the figures around the fire had undoubtedly picked up their scent, Irving had called out a greeting nonetheless.
"Dia dhóibh!"
"Dia is Muire dhóibh," came the reply from a gruff-looking fellow. He could have been the same age as McNair had been. With close cut, silvering hair and hardened dark eyes, there was something about him that struck Tom as familiar. The man's cursory glance caused the bowl he was holding to give a slight jerk in surprise at seeing Tom. The two other figures at the fire, one an attractive dark-haired woman and the other a small boy who couldn't be older than ten, stared at Tom openly. "Ye found him then," the gruff fellow said to Irving as he stood, wiping the palm of his hand on his jeans.
"Aye. Gave me a lean run he did. Tom McNair, this is Conal Gwedore, my sire."
Tom extended his hand politely. Conal's grip was hearty and assured. "I be honored, Master McNair."
"Eh, just Tom really," Tom answered, feeling awkward at the formality from this strong man. "So you're Irving's Da?"
"Nay. I be his mactíre athar, his wolf father. Just as Anthony McNair was to you."
"Did you know him?"
"N'er been granted the pleasure, but I've heard me stories. Your athar and ye'self be the Barry Slayers. And you've had the wolf longer than most of us, me'self included. You care for a cup of stew? There be plenty in the pot."
"But how do you know? My Da and I, we never found many others like ourselves. Who coulda told you bout us?"
"Vampires of course. You be loads famous with 'em," Irving chimed in and Conal caught him in a quick reprimanding glance. Irving pursed his lips and made himself busy over the stewpot.
Conal returned his gaze to Tom. "One I done in a while back, he taunted 'fore I ended him. Addressed me as 'McNair.' Was not hard to track ye down long aft. If it weren't for that one you live with, I reckon they'd have come after you."
"They did once, actually."
"And I reckon you made ash of them then?" Conal asked bluntly.
"Er, yeah. Hal helped..." Tom had been surprised he felt the compulsion to defend Hal, even though he had still been mad at his friend for keeping mum in regards to dogfights. The entirety of his first conversation with this small pack had run him through a range of shifting emotions. Hal was still family, and Tom recognized that despite his initial excitement, these wolves were strangers. The awe of meeting more of his kind had given way to caution, even if the curiosity still held.
"Like I said. If it weren't for him. Anyway, here be our lot. Irving you met. This here's Maud, and the little one's Begley."
Tom nodded politely to each. Irving handed him a tin mug of stew, taking his own serving with him to an upright log of firewood. He motioned Tom to the empty camp chair. The stew was thick and smelled wonderful. Tom's stomach growled as he took the mug and the offered seat. Begley had sat up straight, watching Tom with keen interest and grinning. "You know how to use the wolf to fight!" the child blurted.
"By the strength of the sun and moon," Maud exclaimed with exasperation. "Begley, hush!" She set her bowl aside and smiled at Tom warmly from across the fire. "Forgive the boy his excitement but you've become a bit of a bedtime story."
"I 'ave?" Tom furrowed his brow, setting his spoon back in the stew. This whole encounter had started odd and kept on going into odder. Tom wasn't used to being the center of anyone's attention, except for Allison. He wondered what she would make of all this. He mused that she probably would have a hundred brilliant questions to ask their fellow wolves.
"Aye," Conal concurred. "We're raising the lad with a full knowledge of his world. He needs to know how to look after himself."
"He wasn't born with the wolf, was he?" Tom thought it out loud, immediately dismissive of the possibility.
Irving interjected, "Begley was turned a month after me, a year ago." The boy looked away from them all with a guilty expression. Irving just looked sad. "He's me brother."
"Aye that. Maud and I, we caught up with these two unfortunately too late for young Begley."
"He's me brother. I tried to keep him away, but he found me. Right before the change it was." Irving's voice was rough with remorse.
Tom's heart had dropped, recognizing the youth's story as being painfully similar to George and Nina's. He wondered if it was akin to his own, as well. "And your parents then too?"
"Our parents died long before the wolf, Mr. McNair," Irving stated. Tom wondered then just how long these two brothers had been on their own. Living off the land and outside of the social system was a sure way for a wolf to have come across them. Wolf turned brother, brother turned wolf, and on it went.
Seeming to know his line of thought, Maud spoke sagely and with softness, "We cannot change our past. What we do have the power to change, however, lies ahead of us." Her eyes lit on Conal briefly, "We've acknowledged that we're stronger together than apart."
"Which is why we've sought you out," Conal guided the conversation, and Tom's attention, back to him. "Were you aware that in Celtic lore, werewolves weren't man-eating creatures, but rather protectors? Respected even?"
"McNair said that was our duty, but he ain't never said it was historical an'that," Tom replied, then took a mouthful of stew. It was as delicious as it smelled. He eagerly took another bite, waiting for Conal to say more.
"The stories tell of wolves guiding lost children and guarding wounded men. Even today, a wolf talisman is still believed to ward off evil. In the Northern lands where I hail from, it is said that there were tribes of wolf-men living in the wilds. Ancient Kings would call on em for aid in battle. Did your sire tell you of the Ossarians, young Master McNair?"
"They like the lobisomem?" Tom asked, not wanting to sound completely ignorant of werewolf legends.
Conal shook his head. "Nay. In ancient times, Ossory was a kingdom in Eire. It now be comprised of part o'county Kilkenny. Stories say, the people of Ossory had the power to be changing themselves into wolves whenever they damn-well pleased. Saint Patrick, now, you've heard of him?" Conal asked and Tom nodded. "Well he be the one who pronounced the Ossorians as cursed. When he came round and attempted to preach to them, they howled at him like a pack-"
"Of wolves!" Begley shouted, having obviously heard this story before. He kicked his heels in amusement and Maud ruffled his hair.
"Now, none know what came of that, but some believe Saint Patrick's attempts to cure the Ossorians be what got us where we are today," Conal concluded.
"Changing only at the moon, like?" Tom asked, unsure if that was what Conal meant.
"And cursed, rather than blessed, yes," Maud answered, standing to take her bowl to a wash tub set out next to the camper.
"But the wolf ain't a curse. McNair always said."
"And that we too, believe," Conal answered, watching Maud leave. "Tis just a matter of having the right knowledge. And, leverage."
"Leverage?"
"In one sense, the boy was right." Conal paused, stopping to look Tom right in the eye. "We're hoping you can help teach us, Tom McNair."
"Me? Teach you?"
"You've been one with your wolf since you were a wee lad, correct? You were taught to channel your strength to fight?"
Tom set his empty cup in his lap, the spoon clinking. It wasn't so much that he was taught, though he supposed he had been. Just that he hadn't known any different. He wouldn't even know where to begin. "The wolf is just, well… me. There ain't no channeling, is the thing."
"Do you remember, the next day?"
"Somewhat. Smells, animals… faces. If I made I kill or not. Don't you?"
Conal nodded to himself, mulling his answer over. "Tis as I thought. Most of us awaken with the night's activities completely blank. You've honed it."
"McNair did too… or, at least I thought. But it were the moments right before we always used."
"During the change? But the pain..."
"Up to an hour before is when we're at our strongest," Tom said matter-of-factly. "All our senses are heightened, but so is all else."
Conal nodded, but still looked perplexed. "How'in do you hold it back? How do you get somewhere safe?"
"We didn't," Tom shrugged.
"You mean…"
"We'd ambush our targets and those not taken out beforehand would be locked in with us."
"I see." Conal nodded, but also regarded Tom, impressed.
The more Tom had told them about how he and McNair had operated, the more he wanted to tell them. He had been feeling so lost in his attempts to be normal, to be human. In contrast, this felt perfectly right. Here was a group where his skills and unusual upbringing were valued. This was somewhere he could finally belong. He hadn't been thinking of it as an either-or situation. He had no intention of leaving home or the hotel. But working with a pack, helping others like McNair had helped him, would be a better fit than working his way through the adult education system. It was a better fit than trying to be someone he was not. And this was merely the beginning. The Irish pack knew of others, of more werewolves like themselves who were tired of hiding. Conal hadn't even known about the ability of their blood to burn.
As he came around the camper, the late afternoon breeze off the water blowing against him, Begley came running up to him. "Tom!"
Tom grinned heartily and dropped into a crouch to catch the young lad in a bear hug. Maud stepped outside as well, wiping her hands on a terry.
Slipping it free from the inner lining of his jacket, Tom handed the stake he had hidden to Begley. The little boy's eyes went wide as he took the red-worn wood in his small hands. "We're gonna start with this."
They all were seated round the antique dining table, plates served, when Yvonne asked, "So, tell me how you two met."
If Alex had been capable of drinking, she would have shot her wine out her nose. Hal, in rare sly humor, covered for her, "She insisted on a date and look what happened..."
"You killed her?" Adam asked disbelieving. "I knew that shit bout the lute was bull!"
Alex recovered, "No! Hal didn't kill me. His crazy-schemes vampire buddy did."
"And you really should give the lute a chance," Hal smiled, but also redirected the conversation. "I hear congratulations are in order. We received your card. Thank you." There had been a heartfelt letter addressed to Annie as well, but Hal thought it best not to mention.
Adam beamed at Yvonne and sweetly took her hand, "There was none other for me."
"Nor I," Yvonne answered. Christa made a gagging sound across the table.
"You'll find someone someday dear. After college," Yvonne advised.
"And Grimsay? You seem settled in rather well." Diplomatically, Hal tried to keep the dinner conversation moving.
"Yes, island life suits us. Far less people to contend with," Yvonne answered and Alex assumed she meant for Adam. "I even managed to secure employment with the museum. The headlines don't often reach up here."
"But there's nothing to do!" Christa argued. "Everyone is old and smells of fish."
"But its safe," Yvonne added. "Relatively."
At that Christa didn't have an argument. She went starkly quiet, actually. This time Adam took the helm, "How's Annie and the blob? We're both still here so all that whack bout the kid being the War Child must have been a load."
Hal set down his glass and tapped his finger against the base. It was going to come to this, eventually. He had just hoped to prolong it. "Oh no, it was true. Eve really was the War Child." He brought his gaze to meet Adam's. "I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Eve was killed. And Annie has passed over."
Yvonne immediately looked consoling, but Adam looked perplexed. "So, you came here to tell me we're going to drop dead?"
"No, you should be fine. Eve and Annie, they ended the Old Ones."
"But you're still here."
"Yes, I'm still here," Hal agreed, sounding sadly resigned, as though it was still a terribly heavy burden.
"A lot has happened..." Alex stepped in. She cocked her head at Hal, feeling suddenly uncertain but he nodded, granting her permission. Between them, they proceeded to fill the table in on the basic details.
"Well colour me impressed. So now you're a bloody unicorn," Adam stated sullenly when they concluded the narrative with Tom's bomb, and the detonation that Annie set off causing the downfall of the Old Ones.
With reluctance, Hal added, "Alas, it does not end there. The power balance is in upheaval. There have been other bombings."
"Surely not by Tom?" Yvonne, startled, asked in disbelief.
"No, Tom's in school," Alex shrugged, as if that explained everything.
"We think a group of werewolves are involved. We have journeyed here to talk to someone on Harris who may know more about it."
"How did you come to find out?" Yvonne asked.
Hal & Alex glanced between each other briefly. Rook hadn't sworn them to secrecy about the Department, but it was obvious most supernaturals weren't meant to know. Alex thought it was bollocks. With a little kick of revenge, she dove in and told them. "There is a hidden faction of the government that has been monitoring the supernatural world for ages. They're all about keeping the lid on vampires, werewolves and ghosts. They clean up the leftovers and make bodies disappear. They keep us secret."
"Like... Men in Black?" Christa asked, trying to wrap her head around the concept.
"No, more akin to men in grey. They disguise themselves as civil workers," Hal elaborated as Christa and Alex exchanged a glance.
"They don't seem to police supernaturals exactly, but yeah," Alex answered since she knew the movie Christa was referring to. The conversation momentarily stalled while Adam, Christa and Yvonne contemplated the implications.
"But why would they just keep covering us up?" Christa asked, breaking the silence. "If they know about us, why not just put us down?" She said the last with vehemence.
Hal met the girl's dark eyes. He recognized now the heaviness of guilt in her. The wolf had caused her to do something she was beginning to hate herself for, and that was probably why she had come to seek the isolation of Grimsay. He chose his words carefully. "Many of us do deserve just that," he included himself in the statement. "However, many do not," he continued, meeting Yvonne's eyes, and then Christa's. "Some embrace their monsters, while others are merely people who have been afflicted with something they cannot control. Would you wish to be the judge and jury of such a thing?"
"But people - innocent people end up murdered!" Christa protested.
"Aye," Alex agreed, surprising Hal. "I'm proof of that. But people die every day. Usually, at the hands of other humans." It was a solemn statement, but Alex didn't let the pause linger. "The Men in Grey do seem to stop the deaths they can anticipate. At least, the big ones. They were prepared to take out Hal, if he reverted..." Alex let the thought trail with an inner shudder, again thankful for his ability to control himself. "The Men in Grey believe that dry vampires pose a larger risk of catastrophe, which is how we found out about them."
"Well, they must not know everything. They didn't stop me," Yvonne sounded saddened.
"Your kind are a little more difficult to track, I'd imagine. But they are aware that you're here. Both of you," Hal admitted. Yvonne cocked her head in surprise.
Adam caught Alex's look of befuddlement and cracked a sly grin. "Yvonne is a succubus," he said it almost like he was proud.
"Adam!"
"Well you are. And a damn fine one I might add," his widening grin broke the tension in the room as he squeezed her thigh under the table. Yvonne slapped him away with her napkin.
Christa rolled her eyes. "See what I have to put up with?"
Alex just watched the whole exchange completely floored. "Excuse me, a what?"
"Human daughter of a demon. I was regretfully, born this way. I'm coming to terms with it. Adam, as well as Annie and Hal, have helped me with that." Yvonne smiled bravely.
"What does it mean exactly?" Alex asked, still completely confused.
"Men fall in love with her if she touches them. It is seriously bloody annoying," Adam answered.
"But now that I know and have accepted it, I am finally learning that I can control it."
"She wears super sexy gloves," Adam winked.
"So vampires are immune then yeah?" Alex asked, glancing between Hal and Adam.
"No," Hal shook his head. "Vampires are not immune from the spell. Merely the outcome."
Yvonne looked to Adam and sighed, this time patting his arm gently, "Adam was the first person I loved, who didn't tragically die."
"Cuz you can't kill what's already dead," Christa concluded.
"Would anyone care for dessert?" Yvonne offered suddenly, standing up and beginning to clear the table, obviously uncomfortable with talking about her condition.
Alex stood as well, "Here, let me help." She levitated the remaining platters, bowls and utensils into one floating stack with barely a thought to it.
"Oh! Now that's handy," Yvonne smiled and the two women departed for the kitchen, Alex pushing the dishes ahead of herself.
Adam leaned across the table to Hal, "Dude, your girlfriend is one sexy -"
"Lay off it, Adam." Hal wasn't irritated though. He watched them go, noting just how strong Alex had become with her abilities, and smiled. "I know."
