Mauve (A Very British Witch Book 3) Page 6

“Yes, yes, spare me the palaeontology lesson, Tim.”

  For the second time in a matter of minutes, Tim blushed, this time flickering a glance at the floor for good measure. “Sorry, Danny.”

  “Have you found anything that might lead us to identifying a suspect?”

  “A few things. First, one of the witnesses brought to my attention the fact that the dogs know its scent. As it was dark and none of the soldiers could get a clear view, the dogs could turn out to be our prime witnesses. Another witness did say he saw what appeared to be a man or a beast howling at the moon.”

  “Very interesting.”

  “The coroner also said that DNA tests identified the perpetrator as having red or blond hair.”

  “Anyone come to mind?”

  “Not immediately. But I did go for a drive around town, took a few photos of people that we might use for identification purposes at a later date.”

  Gregory scowled. “Now look here, I’m all for showing some initiative Tim, but next time make sure you—”

  “I know, Danny, run it past you first.”

  “Precisely. Renegade behaviour can only lead to all sorts of problems.”

  “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again, sir.”

  “Good to know.”

  “One more thing, Danny.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, as I mentioned earlier, there was a trainer. Torn to shreds. Looked like someone might have shifted while wearing it. Size eight.”

  “Oh, so we’re on the lookout for a man with red or blond hair of average height?”

  “It would seem so. Anyway, we have a trainer and a pack of dogs that know the scent. We’ll have them out tonight. See if they can find anything new.”

  “Are you going to be present at the scene?”

  “Yes. I’m going home now to have a quick shower and grab a bite to eat, but I’ll be out with one of the units later on.”

  “Keep up the good work, Tim.” Gregory put his bag on the floor, freeing up his hands to put his jacket on. “So, if you don’t mind, I must dash. Let’s catch up later.”

  “Of course. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Oh yes, Tim, please do. The minute anything new comes up, you let me know.”

  “Will do, Danny, will do.”

  Tim got in his car and headed straight into town. Running into traffic, he slowed down, affording him the opportunity to get a good look at the pedestrians. His eye did run over someone with blond hair and they were wearing trainers, too. He pulled up and took his phone from his pocket. He was just about to take the photo when the person in question looked up at his mother and burst into tears, ruling out the possibility completely. A werewolf with remorse was not likely, after all.

  +++

  Malaprop’s Bookstore, Bicester, England

  The full moon shone in through the curtains of the little window near the ceiling of the room. Ronnie pounded at the cage, the fever of his infection making him more agitated than normal. It didn’t take long for him to break through his chains, and he soon heaved at the metal bars this way and that, bending them.

  Karl and Tarquin, exhausted from staying up so late, watched nervously.

  “D’you think those bars are going-” Karl started to ask.

  Suddenly, Ronnie ripped one of the bars out and hurled it backwards into the cage. It crashed against the wall.

  “Get back!” Karl shouted, pushing Tarquin into his chair and out of the way. He started to move towards the cage at vamp-speed, but already Ronnie had squeezed between the remaining bars. Fired up and feral, he lunged towards the door, knocking Karl backwards with such a force he flew back against the other wall.

  In an instant he was out of the basement, crashing through the shop. Karl was too dazed and hurt to vamp-speed after him. Tarquin heard the sound of glass shattering above them. Ronnie had made it through the front door, and out onto the street.

  “Are you ok?” Tarquin asked, scrambling to get up from where Karl had pushed him.

  Karl grunted, getting to his feet. “Yeah,” he gruffed eventually. “But Ronnie is gone, and I couldn’t hear which way he went.” He shook his head, contemplating his next move. “I should get after him…”

  Tarquin shook his head. “No point if you don’t know which way he went. We need to find another way to handle this.”

  +++

  The moon shone high in the sky and the streets were deserted. Stepping out in the open, Ronnie’s eyes darted around for anything he might have missed. If anyone saw him, the game would be up. The human part of his mind, which was becoming more and more aware during his transformations, knew this for sure. Once certain that he was in the clear, he walked gingerly along the street, led by the moonlight.

  Up above, a plane came into view, flickering red. Ronnie fought his instincts and managed to stop himself from dashing for cover. The people looking down from the sky couldn’t see him; they were no threat at all. He put one foot in front of the other and proceeded along the sidewalk. A few seconds later, still in the clear, he broke out into a trot. With each streetlight he passed, he gathered more pace, until finally, he let himself go.

  The lamp-lit lines of the streets dashed towards him, the shops all a blur, guiding him along the pedestrian area and onto the main road. To the left lay a back alley, which he knew would take him to where he wanted to go.

  Moist earth crumbled and clumped between his toes, mice scampered away from his path and the wooden fence rattled in the breeze. To his right, a row of houses looked on, seeking him out with their spotlights. A cat leapt out in front of him, bared its teeth and hissed, then fled.

  Leaving the alley, he raced across the road and stepped onto the field. The wet lush grass flattened underfoot as he continued on his way, now under the guidance of the moonlight alone. A cloud passed by, obscuring the light, plunging him into a world of unknown darkness, freedom beckoning. He continued, bounding through the grass, feeling free to be himself at last.

  He picked up speed, without a care, like a speedboat in the middle of calm, safe waters. He paused for a breath. Not a sign of anyone or anything; he was alone with the elements. After taking a step to steady himself, he shot off once more along his path to who knows where.

  The flow of adrenaline slowed, then stopped altogether. In the distance a car engine rumbled, growing louder and louder with each passing second. The headlights flashed across the grass. Ronnie dove into the wet grass and held his breath, waiting for the car to disappear into the distance before standing up tall and trying to gain his bearings. At some point during the night he might have to make a run for it, which could result in him getting lost and wandering about the field in human form, waiting for the daylight hours to pass so he could once again shift and run free.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Stratton Audley, Bicester Outskirts

  The sound of his panting filled the air. Behind him, way off in the distance, a row of houses sparkled and cars crawled along the roads. The sound of thudding car doors carried across the grass. Even out there, in the middle of nowhere, life was all around him. Ronnie knew he wasn’t safe, not there and not anywhere. At any given moment, the dogs from the previous night might reappear, and he knew his chances of outrunning them were slim now that he had changed back to human form.

  Voices. A lot of them. Ronnie looked over his shoulder and held his breath. The sound of something resembling a whine drifted across the field. He listened harder, not daring to breathe, hoping and praying it was a figment of his imagination.

  Voices, again, coming his way. Another whine, followed by a whimper. Seconds later, he saw them. Outlines at first, but as they came closer, his fears were confirmed.

  The military police were back. The dogs were out in front, noses to the ground, leading them in his direction. The soldiers had something, something to give them his scent. One of the dogs looked straight at him and its eyes lit up. In no time at all, they were all barking, snarling and looking his way. Once again, they
were on his trail.

  Ronnie took off, flying through the long grass into the onrushing darkness, with only the wind on his face to guide him under the partially obscured moon.

  Cursing himself for being so carefree earlier, Ronnie started to tire. They had gotten closer, their eyes gleaming and their mouths gaping as they sensed their prey was near. When their panting was almost upon him, one of the dogs barked as they gathered speed.

  Ronnie turned around, took one step, and realized that this time he wasn’t going to get away from them. He carried on regardless, his legs close to packing it in. From somewhere, he managed to find his second wind and put some distance between them again.

  He continued to run, desperate to increase his lead on them while he still had the energy and the will. The events of the night flashed through his mind. Karl and Tarquin chaining him up, using up all his strength to break free, then running wild like his life depended on it. Well, now his life did depend on it and he was out of gas. He slowed to a jog to give himself a breather, but once recovered, his legs refused to pick up speed.

  They were gaining on him. Looking back over his shoulder, he could once again see the gleam of their eyes, their tongues hanging out, moving around like they were licking their lips before a tasty meal. Giving it all he had, he managed to pick up the pace, but it was no use. Just a few steps later, Ronnie slowed to walking pace and awaited his fate.

  Out of nowhere, Amanda came to his mind. What was she doing now and how would she take the news of his imminent death? Did she even suspect he might be a shifter?

  Their whispering footsteps closed in.

  And what about Karl and Tarquin? Would they blame themselves for his escape when they heard the news? He hoped not.

  Their hot breath was on his heels, just as it had been the other night. He could feel their teeth scraping the skin from his flesh.

  He threw a hand over his stomach and stumbled in the grass. One of the dogs jumped, missing by inches. Two steps later, Ronnie stumbled again. This time, he was unable to regain his balance and fell face first onto the ground. His impending death sniffed towards him.

  One of the dogs trotted along the side of his limp body, panting, snorting, and growling. It reached Ronnie’s cheek, growled again and moved in for the kill. Its wet nose scraped along his face.

  Ronnie turned over, sat up straight and brought his leg in. With one foot standing, the dog pounced, took hold of his naked body and held on, waiting for the others to catch up. As Ronnie’s fear intensified, he felt a familiar stirring. By the time the rest of them reached him, he had transformed again.

  They came at him from all directions, half a dozen or more. The more he struggled, the more vicious they became. Totally outnumbered, Ronnie did his best to fight them off, but knew at any moment he’d feel razor-sharp canines sink into his flesh and the pack would be upon him. He’d be flat on the ground and helpless, too exhausted, even in were-form, to fight them off.

  Once they had him, Ronnie put up a brave struggle, maiming some of the dogs, but soon resorted to covering his face with his hands, waiting to be torn to shreds like Mauve the cow. But the death blow never came. Instead, they just barked, held him still, and waited for their handlers to catch up.

  Heavy footsteps along with accompanying voices approached. Guns clicked and flares lit up the surrounding night sky. He could hear them fumbling in the dark. Ronnie lay still, breathing heavily, like he’d been presented with an unexpected ray of hope. Seconds later a boot clattered into his arm.

  “Here it is.”

  The others came over, each of them proposing a different plan of action. The voices receded and four legs climbed on his back, pushing him forward and pinning him to the ground.

  The soldiers finished their conference, and Ronnie heard the clank of chains as they moved closer. In no time at all, he was bound and unable to move a muscle, the chains digging in so tight that the slightest movement made him wince. Sweat dripped from every pore on his body.

  They each stood back and a gun clicked. “Okay, stand back everyone.”

  The cool night air momentarily engulfed him and he smiled, grateful for this small moment of pleasure before the bullet came.

  The trigger clicked and the air whined. Ronnie looked up, just as something sharp planted itself in his leg. It was only once they’d hauled him to his feet that his limp body alerted him to the effects of the dart’s poison. He was limp and motionless. Incapacitated and completely at the mercy of the soldiers.

  It wasn’t long before the sound of a rumbling truck filled the air and a set of headlights cast a blanket of light over the road in front of him. The dogs moved and the soldiers stepped forward.

  They slung him down in the bed of the truck and pinned him, and brought the dogs in beside him to keep watch. A soldier rapped on the dividing window, the engine fired up and they started to roll.

  +++

  Secure Facility, RAF Bicester, Launton

  Ronnie lay on his back, surrounded by soldiers, dogs waiting to pounce, staring up at the dark sky. The clouds had won their battle with the moon and stars, and now it was just about as dark as it gets.

  His leg throbbed. The dart had landed in an area that had been bound by the first set of chains and had bruised as he’d broken free. When the truck rolled over a divot, the pain shot right through him and he winced. The dogs immediately stood up, but the soldiers restrained them.

  They ran over a divot that was like a small crater, and the truck jumped. Ronnie’s reflexes shot his arm towards his leg as he cried out in agony. This time, the soldiers were unable to restrain the dogs and before he knew it, four razor-sharp paws stood on his chest. They journeyed on for roughly ten minutes more, the dog’s canines coming inches from his face each time the truck jolted.

  When they turned off the road and passed through the gates of what looked like a military base, Ronnie felt almost relieved that his ordeal was over and submitted himself to his fate.

  If he knew what lay ahead, he might well have begged them to finish him off then and there.

  The truck pulled up right outside the main entrance and the soldiers leapt to their feet. A guard emerged from inside the building and, much to Ronnie’s relief, escorted the dogs to their kennels around the back.

  For a second, it felt to Ronnie like he was arriving at his local casualty, but any hopes he had of being placed on a stretcher and wheeled to a comfortable, clean bed were soon dashed as he was hauled to his feet and made to step across the gravelly car park to the main entrance.

  Inside, the lights were all on, but the building was deserted. With one soldier holding each arm, they dragged his limp, exhausted body through a fire door and along a never-ending corridor to a staircase. The metallic scraping of his chains on the floor echoed in the emptiness. Staggering onto the upper floor, he consumed all the strength he had left, to get a good look around.

  On either side of a long center aisle were cages, each one occupied by some kind of half-human creature. Most of them were naked, curled up in the corner, fast asleep, in the same manner as he had often woken to find himself in. When he clocked a vacant cage right at the end that was fast approaching, Ronnie feared the worst.

  They dragged him on, past the cage to another gruelling set of steps. This time, he collapsed half way up. The guards stooped and lifted him to his feet, carrying him up the stairs, dragging his claws over the steps.

  At the top of the stairs the soldiers released him and he fell tumbling to the floor. Raising his head up, he forced himself to examine the surroundings.

  Everywhere he looked were the most hi-tech cages he’d ever seen. Buttons flashed on the outside and a wall of electricity buzzed on the inside, preventing the occupants from making a nuisance of themselves.

  The soldiers dragged him up to his feet. “This way, follow me, come on, you can walk yourself. The drugs should have worn off by now, so I know you’re trying it on.”

  Ronnie took one step unaided and fell ba
ck to the floor. “Please, help me,” he snarled, raising a hand.

  Without comment, the soldier reached down, pulled him to his feet and told his friend to keep away as he dragged him along the aisle like a broken shopping trolley.

  The soldier followed Ronnie into the cage and puffed out his chest. “Hope you’re comfortable in your new accommodation.” He laughed.

  “What’s going to happen to me now?”

  “Well, you see these cages? They hold all our specimens. Specimens, like you.”

  “What do you mean by specimens?”

  “I mean, that you’re here to be tested on. Yep, that’s right, first thing in the morning, when you’ve shifted back, the tests will start. But don’t worry, we’ll give you something to bite into when the pain gets too much for you.” He laughed. “Oh, and if the person doing the testing is in a good mood, he might give you a kick to knock you out, just so you don’t feel the pain. See? Nothing to worry about at all.”

  The soldier stepped towards the door, still laughing to himself. The button blinked green and the door slid shut. Soon after, the cage buzzed and a blue, crackling sheen appeared along the cage’s door and two side walls.

  Striding along the aisle, the guard started whistling some melody that, to Ronnie, sounded vaguely familiar. He descended the stairs, flipped a switch and plunged the entire building into darkness.

  Ronnie’s chains clanked as he slumped down at the back of the cage and curled up like the poor creatures he’d passed downstairs. Glancing around, he got the idea that this time tomorrow, he wouldn’t be so fortunate.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Slater residence, Bicester, England

  Scarlett finished getting dressed. She put on her shoes and stood at the bedroom door, listening for signs of life downstairs. There was the sound of a spoon chink against a bowl in the kitchen, then the kettle roared and a chair scrape across the floor.