Sons of Angels (12 page)

Felicia followed Gillian over a wall into an expansive private garden. “You really think I’m a werewolf?”

“I can smell it. Now change.”

Felicia concentrated, willing her body to alter. “I can’t. It’s not a full moon.”

Gillian clicked her tongue. “I told you. That’s just folklore. You’re too enmeshed in your mindset to make the shift. Take off your clothes.”

“What, here?” Felicia glanced around. “Someone might see.”

“Here? At this time of night?” Gillian began to unbutton Felicia’s blouse. “The only other people who could see are ghosts, and why should you care about that?”

“Isn’t there a public path through here?”

“Only during the day.” Gillian laughed. “The footpath is closed at night. Anyone on it is fair game.”

“You hunt people here?”

“Of course. I have to hunt to survive. I don’t often kill anyone and all they remember is an erotic dream.”

“That sounds good. Can I have it without being asleep?”

Gillian frowned. “Are you flirting with me? I could snap your neck.”

“But you won’t.”

Gillian took her clothing. “You’d only ruin them. Now get on all fours. It will help with the visualization.”

“I suppose.” Felicia hunkered down and tried again. “It’s still not working.”

“Try barking like a dog.”

Felicia tried. “I feel silly.”

“Who cares? The visual works for me.”

“Very funny.” Felicia looked up at the vampire. “It’s no good. Perhaps I’m not developed enough as a werewolf.”

Gillian slapped her, sending Felicia’s head twisting away from her blow. She snapped back. “What was that for?”

Gillian punched her hard enough to break a man’s ribs then swept her feet away to send her sprawling.

“Don’t do that!” Felicia growled. The vampire was outlined in white against the dark sky. Felicia managed to dodge Gillian’s foot as it came toward her face.

“Good.” The vampire kicked at her, each one delivered with enough power to break a spine. Felicia skittered about the ground, dodging them.

A series of blows landed and Felicia howled in pain, bones and joints popping and reforming. Gillian had said she could heal herself, but hadn’t mentioned the pain. The trees came into bright focus and she launched herself at the vampire.

Gillian sidestepped the rush, her boot connecting with Felicia's leg and sending her into a skid. Felicia recovered fast, bearing down on the vampire to give her some of her own treatment. Again Gillian dodged, this time executing a forward somersault in the air to land lightly on her feet. “Hold.”

Felicia stared at her in monochrome. Gillian vanished into the darkness until Felicia moved her head, then the depth of field resolved to reveal the vampire standing perfectly still. Felicia’s sense of smell filled in the details.

Gillian put her hands on her hips and strode forward, the movement clear in Felicia’s vision. “Now do you believe me?”

Felicia looked down to see, not her hands as she expected, but hairy legs that terminated in paws. When she twisted her head, she could see the rest of her body in wolf form.

“I would never have believed it possible.”

Gillian shook her head. “You’ve lost your vocal cords. All I can hear are barks and whines. Use your sense of smell. Can you detect anything worth eating?”

Felicia yipped and sped off toward the pasture land surrounding the estate. Gillian raced to keep up with her. “No! Not the sheep! The farmer will have a fit!”

* * * *

Gillian dropped the remains of the sheep down a pit on the grounds of the manor. Originally for the purpose of incarceration, it was now a handy repository for her kills. The imps periodically poured lye down to speed decomposition and mask the smell. She nudged Felicia from an overeating stupor. “Sated?”

Felicia gave a low whine and rolled over on her back. Gillian squatted to pat her stomach. “Too full, I bet. Still, you need the energy to transform back. Come on.”

She began to jog back to the manor but the wolf didn’t follow. Gillian stopped and looked back. “Heel.”

Felicia trotted after her.

When they reached the stable yard Gillian knelt down. “You need to change back. I know it feels good to be in this form, but you’ve got a human inside you that needs to come out. The more you change form, the more you’ll be able to control it. Trust me on this. We can hunt again tomorrow, if you like.”

The wolf whined and sat, shuffling forward as the change began. Bare skin absorbed the fur as bones snapped and reset into new positions, and calcium stored in a thickened skeleton rushed to add length to femur and metacarpals.
 

Sinews stretched and twanged like the music of the damned while muscles shifted to different groupings.
 

Paws grew out into hands and feet, ears slid down the head and its snout shrank back into a skull that quickly altered from wolf to human.

Felicia lay on the tarmac, tears of pain and frustration coursing down her cheeks. “I felt free.” She looked up at the vampire. “Free for the first time in years.”

Gillian offered her an arm to help her stand. “You will again. You’re a joker in a deck of jokers. You’re no longer part of the mortal world.”

Felicia looked toward the hills and the patch of lighter sky above them. “I feel alive, as if all my life I’ve been asleep.”

Gillian smiled as she threw Felicia’s clothes to her. “Welcome to living.”

Chapter 13

Felicia woke to sunshine slanting through her bedroom window and the sound of blackbirds singing in the trees around the apartment block. After only three hours of sleep she felt better than she had in years. The general aches and pains she’d suffered for years–the groaning knee from a running injury and the pelvis that froze in place once in a while and had to be painfully manipulated until it clicked–had melted away like a headache before sex. She checked the clock. Eight o’clock was still early enough to enjoy a leisurely shower and a relaxed coffee.

She took time to read the newspaper, passing the time until she could phone people during business hours. Harold would understand her leaving the gallery closed while she mourned her mother. As an unexpected silver lining she could legitimately cancel Emily Baker’s installation piece.

Felicia frowned. Why was she not more upset? When her father had died she had grieved for weeks despite shouldering the responsibility for her sister. Now that her mother had died, she felt hardly anything. It was as if the bereavement process was happening to somebody else and all she could do was watch and add platitudes of comfort.

Page three of the Laverstone Times had a late breaking story:
Mysterious fire kills mother of two

Another fire broke out yesterday at the home of Patricia Turling, 67, a widow of five years and the mother of two single daughters. Like the fire at Park View, the house on Sandringham Crescent was burned to ashes within minutes. Firemen, alerted to the scene by an anonymous caller, arrived too late to provide assistance.

The fire lasted only fifteen minutes but was hot enough to melt brick and concrete. Police are anxious to speak to Mrs. Turling’s daughter, Felicia.

Foul play is not suspected, though firemen are at a loss to explain the sudden inferno. Police are asking anyone with information to step forward.

Included was a picture of what used to be her mother’s house, the yellow tape echoed by the jackets of the emergency crew.

Felicia closed the paper and picked up the phone. The police didn’t wait for business hours unless one were reporting a burglar after midnight, when they invariably asked, at least in Felicia’s experience, to call back in the morning with an inventory of the items stolen.

Despite asking for DS Peters, she was put straight through to Detective-Inspector White.

“The newspaper said you needed to speak to me. I told everything I could think of to Mr. Peters yesterday.”

“
DS
Peters neglected to ask some questions.” White inhaled through his teeth. “Could we impose upon you one more time?”

Felicia nodded, despite White not being able to see her. “I’ll drop in later on. I’ll be in town shortly.”

“Thank you, Miss Turling. I shall look forward to it.” White put the phone down, leaving Felicia with nothing but the dial tone.

She looked at the clock. It was almost nine. She dialed the hospital, enduring several menus and a blast of tinny Dvorak before being connected.

“Mr. Patterson’s office?”

“Hello. I just want to confirm Mr. Patterson will be able to see me today.”

“I don’t see any appointments. May I ask who’s calling?”

She frowned. “Felicia Turling, regarding Julie Turling.”

“Ah, I see the confusion. There was an appointment booked for you, Ms. Turling, but it was canceled after Julie was discharged.”

Color faded from her vision. “What do you mean, discharged? I saw her on Sunday and spoke to the matron. I was told she couldn’t leave unless I signed the paperwork. How can she have left?”

“According to the notes, you saw Mr. Patterson yesterday.”

“I think I’d know if I’d seen him. I think my sister would be sitting in a chair in my flat if that had been the case. Trust me, she’s not here.”

“Is there another sister, perhaps? Procedures would have been followed...”

“I don’t need your assurances about procedures. Something is obviously wrong with them if she’s been released without my knowledge. There’s been an almighty cock-up somewhere and it isn’t mine.”

Felicia slammed the phone down and fought back the tears that threatened to cascade down her cheeks. “Julie?” She spoke aloud to the empty flat. “Where the hell are you?”

* * * *

Felicia fidgeted. She should be looking for Julie, not stuck in here.

DI White tapped his pencil on the table. “There’s something you’re not telling me. You have beads of sweat on your forehead and your pupils are dilated.”

“Look...” Surely they couldn’t believe that she had killed her own mother? “I’ve told you all this time and time again. I went to see Mother yesterday and saw her lying at the bottom of the stairs. I didn’t push her or anything. It would have been about one o’clock.”

“Yes, you said that in your statement.” White pulled the sheet of typed paper toward the edge of the table and read out what she’d written. “‘I usually visit my mother, Mrs. Patricia Turling, on my way to work, but since Monday was my day off, I’d dropped in on her to make sure she was all right after our visit to the hospital the day before. When I arrived at approximately one PM, I found my mother lying at the bottom of the stairs. At this point I saw flames at the top of the stairs and fled.’ That was what you told us, Miss Turling.”

Felicia nodded. “That’s right, yes.” She clutched her hands tightly together on her lap, the tension of the muscles in her shoulders making the blouse feel uncomfortably tight.

DI White tapped the paper thoughtfully. “The problem with your statement, Miss Turling, is that there are one or two inconsistencies. Is there anyone who can attest to your whereabouts?”

Felicia grimaced. “Meinwen Jones, the owner of Goddess Provides. I went to her afterward. She’s my friend.”

“That’s the witchy shop in Knifesmithsgate, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. My gallery is opposite.” She dabbed at her eyes.

“As long as Ms. Jones can vouch for you being in her company, I think we can keep dismiss any foul play, Miss Turling.” White smiled.

“Can I go now?” Felicia returned the smile.

“In a moment. There’s something else I’d just like to ask you first.” He flipped open his notebook.

“Yes?”

White perched on the edge of the table, thereby forcing her to look up at him. “One of your mother’s neighbors reported seeing your car outside your mother’s house at twelve-thirty PM. Would you mind explaining that?”

* * * *

Julie took a deep breath, feeling the oxygen infuse every pore. She smelled the familiar reek of sulfur and held her arm out for Wrack to return to her shoulder.