Werewolves of the Other London Page 9

  "You can't leave me here!" Matt screams, and I hear him desperately scrabbling under the rocks, trying to force his way out. "Come back here, you fucking bitch!"

  I just keep walking, but I can't hold back the tears any longer.

  Jess

  Hundreds. There are hundreds of cemeteries in London. And that's not counting ground that has been blessed for some other reason. Whoever would think, looking at London with all its smoke and grime and harshness, that so many parts of the city have been blessed? But it's true: tucked in between skyscrapers and gleaming new buildings, there are old churches and little cemeteries dotted all around. In other words, looking for a freshly dug grave in London in the next twenty-four hours is going to be like looking for a needle in a haystack. There's just no way I can cover so much ground. Even if I get help from Darla, which isn't certain, I'll still have to rely on luck. And luck just isn't enough. I need something more solid, something that's going to work. I need a better plan.

  "Laminated badge," says Darla, suddenly appearing behind me and sitting on the other side of the table. The End of the World pub is crowded with people having after-work drinks. Darla holds out her security badge. "I'm fucking in, darling. I'm in with the Blaum people. I got a little tour of their building and everything. It's fucking high-tech. Creepy, but high-tech."

  "Great," I say. "Listen, we have to go right now. Duncan's buried in a cemetery somewhere in London. I don't know where, and we have to start looking. Are you with me?"

  She stares at me, her mouth hanging open. "Hang on, darling. Let me catch up with you for a minute. Duncan's buried?"

  "It's the most likely scenario. If he was -"

  "Hallowed ground," Darla says, a look of sudden realization flashing across her face. "Of course. That makes sense. If he's buried on hallowed ground, you'd never be able to sense him. And his body won't be able to heal."

  "Permanently," I say firmly. "If he stays buried for too long, he'll never be able to heal. Not ever. You know what that means, right?"

  "Of course I do," she says. "But do you know how many cemeteries there are in London?"

  "Too many," I say.

  "Fucking right," she replies.

  "And we only have twenty-four hours," I add. "If that. It might already be too late."

  Darla sighs. "Listen," she says, "there's no way we can go to every cemetery, search it, and maybe even dig up bodies, in twenty-four hours. No way. You understand that, right?"

  "We might get lucky," I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I know how pathetic it sounds. Something as important as saving Duncan's life needs more than simple luck.

  "Fuck luck," Darla replies. "Fuck it. People who rely on luck are doomed to lose big time. We need a better fucking plan. And we need a drink." She pulls a huge pile of notes from her pocket.

  "Where the hell did those come from?" I ask, shocked. This morning she and I were dead broke, now there must be five grand in her hand.

  She smiles. "Told you. Brains, ambition and great tits. Killer combo. Now what do you want to drink?"

  "I want to get going," I say. "We have to find Duncan."

  She sighs. "Listen, darling. It's better to wait half an hour and then head off with a killer plan, than to just go off with no plan at all and end up wasting all our time. Okay? We need to think about this. And I need a drink."

  I nod. "Get me a whiskey," I say. "Please", I remember to add after a little pause.

  While Darla's at the bar, I can't help remembering the way Matt screamed at me to let him out of the pit. He was so desperate, he sounded so betrayed. There has to be a way I can help him. There has to be a way I can make up for how I betrayed and tricked him. Although I'm totally caught up in trying to save Duncan, I still feel bad for what I did to Matt. There's got to be a way to help him somehow.

  "So the problem's hallowed ground?" Darla asks as she comes back with our drinks. "And hallowed ground is basically ground that's been blessed by a priest."

  I nod. "Because his body is buried on hallowed ground, he can't recover from his injuries. And if we don't get him out of there soon, it'll be too late. So we have to -"

  "Go to each and every cemetery in London within the next twenty-four hours, find him, and dig him up?"

  I nod.

  "Impossible," she says.

  "We have to try!" I reply, almost raising my voice against the noise of the crowded pub. Why doesn't she understand how important this is?

  "Of course I do!" she says, staring me down. "That's why we have to come up with a plan. We have to be smart! We have to come up with a way to buy ourselves more time, with a better way of dealing with this than just running around London like headless chickens." She pauses, and finally I can see that she's taking this seriously. "We have to have more than luck on our side. We have to come up with a better plan!"

  I sigh. "Like what?"

  She pauses to down her glass of whiskey. "We have to..." She stares into thin air. "We have to find another solution."

  "Ladies!" shouts a voice from nearby. We both turn to find Jeremy, Eddie's 'friend' from earlier, towering over our table. "Have you managed to find out mutual friend yet?" he asks.

  Darla sighs, clearly unimpressed at the interruption. "Not yet," she says, keeping things short and sweet. She's clearly hoping that Jeremy goes away, but unfortunately her subtlety is lost on him.

  "Too bad," Jeremy says. He's drunk, almost swaying as he stands by us. "His loss. I was wondering if you ladies would like to join me tonight for a little party back at my place?"

  "No thanks," I say.

  "How many people?" Darla butts in. She looks at me. "It'll help me think!"

  Jeremy sways and stares at us. "Just us three," he says.

  "No-one else?" I ask.

  "No," he says, sounding a little deflated. "Just us."

  "That's not really a party, is it?" I say.

  "Could be," he says. "If you want it to be."

  "Forget it," Darla says. "We've got things to do."

  "At this time of night?" Jeremy asks, incredulous at the idea.

  "Yeah," Darla says, no longer hiding her contempt. "At this time of night. Now fuck off, Jeremy." She spits his name as if it's the most disgusting thing she's ever heard.

  Jeremy stares at her for a moment. "Fuck you too, bitch," he says, turning and staggering away. When he's by the bar, he turns and shouts at the top of his voice. "Fucking bitch!"

  "Nice guy," I say.

  Darla nods. "Led by his dick, like most men. I don't suppose he'll ever -" She suddenly pauses, frowns, and then widens her eyes.

  "What?" I ask.

  "Nothing," she says, her voice trailing off. "Nothing..."

  I sit and wait for her to say something else. From the look in her eyes, it's clear that she's got a plan. "Darla?" I ask eventually. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong," she says. "Just... I'm just thinking about... No, that wouldn't work, it's..." She stares into space for a moment. "I can't imagine there'd be... But if it..." She looks at me. "I've got an idea."

  "About Duncan?" I ask.

  She nods. "I've got a plan. It's not the best plan in the world, but it might just work. It's definitely better than anything else we can try." She looks at her watch. "Come on," she says, getting to her feet. "We have to go and do something monumentally stupid and incredibly embarrassing, and slightly dangerous, and possibly damaging, but I think it might be our only chance of finding your friend Duncan in time."

  I stare at her, not sure what she means or what her plan is. "Darla," I say, "this isn't the time to go running off on some crazy chase. We need to find Duncan -"

  "That's what we're gonna do," she says.

  "How?" I ask impatiently.

  "Duncan's buried on hallowed land, right?" she says, grinning. "So we have to un-hallow all the land in London. Right away. Right now. And there's only one way to do that. Fortunately, I'm an expert." She leans in close to me. "I'm the queen of filth, and I'm gonna solve all your
problems."

  Jess

  It takes us half an hour to get back to Lambeth, and Darla immediately leads me to the steps of the local council hall. She stares up at the lit windows and smiles. "Brilliant," she says. "They're here." She turns to me. "Every week, some of the local priests have a meet-up here to discuss churchy things. I remember it from when I was younger. Thank fuck these people don't change their habits. They just plod along here, have tea and biscuits, and talk crap before going home to their churches. Really boring and totally useless, normally. But this time it's a God-send. Literally, maybe."

  It's cold, with a heavy rain starting to fall and a strong wind starting to pick up. I can't help wondering if we couldn't be using our time more effectively, perhaps by actually looking for Duncan.

  "You're not convinced, are you?" Darla says, smiling at me. "That's okay. It's a pretty crazy plan."

  "You haven't told me what it's about yet," I say.

  "Well, you said it yourself. The problem with Duncan is that he's been buried on hallowed ground. Blessed ground. And we can't check all the hallowed ground in London, can we? Not in time."

  I open my mouth to reply.

  "Of course we can't," she continues. "So what's the alternative?" She waits for me to say something, but I'm kind of lost. "You don't get it, do you?" she asks. "Oh darling, think about it. If we can't get to all the hallowed ground in time, then we have to get rid of the hallowed ground."

  I stare at her. "Get rid of it?"

  "Get rid of it," she says, grinning at me. "Look, I know it's a crazy plan, but it's better than no plan at all."

  "Yeah, okay," I say, "but how do we get rid of hallowed ground?"

  Darla nods. "It's not easy. Basically, every priest, when he takes over a church, blesses the grounds. The grounds become his, they're linked to him, they're blessed by him. The blessing only holds for as long as the priest is pure and strong. If he wavers or falters, if his mind becomes filled with sinful things, the blessing becomes null and void and he has to go and do it again. Not a problem, right? Well, this time it's gonna be a problem. We're gonna get all the priests here, and then we're gonna make the whole of London filthy again. You know, morally speaking."

  "Okay..." I say, still not convinced.

  "It's simple," she smiles. "We can't get Duncan out of hallowed ground in time because we can't find him. So we have to un-hallow all the ground in London. And there's only one way to do that. Corrupt all the priests with filth." She leads me up the steps and into the front of the building. "Just follow my lead," she says. "You don't have to do anything, just watch and wait. And be ready."

  We reach a small door, which is slightly open. From inside, there's the sound of people talking politely in hushed tones. As we peer into the room, we see five or six priests sitting around a table. It looks like a pleasant enough gathering, very civilized and not at all the kind of place where you'd expect two female werewolves to burst in and... Well, I don't know what we're going to do, exactly. That's Darla's department.

  Suddenly Darla pushes the door open and steps into the room. I follow, tentatively, not sure what to do or say. I feel the eyes of the priests focused on us. Honestly, I don't think I've been inside a church since I was about five years old. Maybe it's the lack of habit, or maybe it's the werewolf blood running through my veins, but I feel really odd in here. It's a holy place, and I feel like I don't belong.

  "Can we help you?" asks one of the priests, turning to us as we reach their table.

  "I..." Darla's voice sounds weak and wavering. "I don't know," she says. "No, I'm sorry." She turns and heads back toward the door.

  "Wait!" one of the other priests calls out.

  Darla turns back to them. She looks terrified and confused, nothing like the Darla I know. She stares at the priests, then she holds up her gloved hand as if she's in pain. "I think you're the only ones who can do anything for me," she says. She pulls the glove off her hand, revealing the fleshless, bloody mess. There's an audible gasp in the room. "I feel him inside me. In my heart. And he is doing wonderful things to me." She pauses, then she starts to whisper.

  "I'm sorry," says one of the priests. "Can you speak up, please. I can't hear what you're saying."

  Darla whispers a little louder, but still too softly for anyone to hear.

  "Please," says the priest. "Can you -"

  "Jesus Christ proclaims my need!" she suddenly shouts at them.

  One of the priests gets up and comes over, staring at Darla's hand.

  "What has happened to you, my child?" he asks, clearly shocked.

  Darla holds her hand right up so he can see it. With no flesh, it's just a collection of muscle-covered bones with veins running through it. And then, slowly, Darla clenches her fist tighter and tighter, squeezing and squeezing, and blood starts to squeeze out and run down onto her wrist.

  "Stop that," the priest says, shocked.

  Darla unclenches her fist.

  "What happened to your hand?" the priest asks. "Why are you here?"

  "Jesus," says Darla. "I have been touched. He is working within me. Speaking to me. Being with me. Telling me things. Things to tell to you."

  The priest stares at her. He clearly doesn't believe her, but her hand - with its lack of flesh - is certainly a dramatic sight.

  "Perhaps you should calm down," the priest says. "We need to get you some medical attention for your hand and -"

  "No!" Darla shouts, causing everyone in the room - including me - to jump. "No medical attention. This is... just one of the signs from Jesus that is evident on my body. I'll show you another." She lifts up her shirt to reveal her belly, and then with one quick motion she slashes her skin.

  "My child!" shouts the priest, stepping forward to help her.

  "No!" Darla shouts, stepping back. "Watch!" We all look at her belly as blood trickles from the wound, but within seconds the wound itself heals and soon it's as if it never happened. "Jesus is within me," Darla says. "Don't you see? He heals me. The Lord Jesus Christ heals me."

  The priest stares at her belly. "That's not possible," he says slowly. He turns to the other priests. "Did you see that?"

  "It's a trick," one of the priests says.

  "It's not a trick!" Darla screams at them. She storms over to the priest who doubted her. "Does this look like a trick?" She reaches her hand up to her face, and at first it's hard to see what she's doing but then suddenly she pulls her hand away and her eyeball falls from the socket, landing on the floor. She stares at the priest, her one good eye alongside a bloody socket.

  The priest just stares up, completely shocked. Then he runs to the corner, grabs a rubbish bin and vomits.

  Darla turns her back on the priests, puts her hands over her face and groans. "Dear Father," she says slowly. "As a sign to these men, please heal me." She looks over at me and, with her one remaining eye, she winks. Then she turns back to the priests and slowly removes her hands from her face to reveal that her eye has grown back. It's an impressive trick. I know werewolves recover from injuries fast, but even so, that's a very impressive trick.

  The priest stares at her new eye, then looks down at the old one on the floor.

  "I must speak with you all," Darla says suddenly. There's a different tone to her voice; she sounds more serious, more certain, almost as if someone else is speaking through her. "Gather your brothers. I must speak to every priest in London. Right now. Our Lord Jesus Christ has an important message for you all. He has chosen me - a common whore -" As she says that, her voice wavers a little. "I am to deliver his sacred message but I must address all the priests in London. That is the Lord's command."

  The priests all start making phone calls. I walk over to Darla, but she stares at me as if she's never met me before. "Get thee away from me," she says coldly. "Unclean one."

  "Really?" I say. "I'm the unclean one? Have you met yourself?"

  "Heathen," she mutters, turning away with venom in her eyes. It's hard not to wonder if she's carrying thi
s a bit too far. I look at my watch. We're losing time, and this is taking too long.

  Within twenty minutes, other priests have started to arrive to witness the miracle of Darla. Within forty minutes, there are more than a hundred in the room, and Darla has gone to the far end of the room, where a small raised platform allows her to be seen by everyone. She's still acting strangely, muttering away to herself under her breath and occasionally shouting about people being unclean and not believing. I watch, assuming that this is all part of her plan, though she's very convincing... almost too convincing. Part of me worries that Darla has started to believe that all of this is true, that Jesus is really speaking through her.

  Finally, after almost an hour, the room is packed with priests. They look nervous as they wait for Darla to do or say something.

  "Is it true?" one of them asks me. "Is she the chosen one? Does Jesus speak through her?"

  I open my mouth to answer, but I'm really not sure what to say.

  "Did you see it?" asks another priest. "Did you see the miracle?"

  I nod. "The thing with the eye? Yeah, I saw that."

  The priests look shocked. "I have been waiting," one of them says. "My whole life, I have been waiting for Our Lord to give us a sign like this."

  "And it has come," another priest says. "Our faith was correct. The Lord has chosen this... waif... to be the vessel for his return."

  Suddenly there's an ear-piercing scream from the other end of the room. Everyone looks over to see Darla, on the raised platform, clutching her face. The whole room falls silent as we wait to see what Darla will do next.

  "Is every priest here?" she asks.

  "The Lord speaks through me," she says as the priests all go over to watch her. "The Lord is in me. He performs his acts through me. It is His will that you are gathered here to witness this."

  Apart from Darla's voice, the room is deathly silent. You could hear a pin drop.