Page 11 of Licence To Howl
It was at that point one of the phone clutching men tipped his head towards the front. ‘Five million,’ he said.
There was an audible gasp around the room. Christopher Solentino began to rise out of his chair, his head whipping towards the man who’d made the bid. If looks could kill, Devereau mused, there would be blood dripping from the ceiling right about now. Alina tugged him back down again and began muttering furiously in his ear.
‘Five million euros,’ the auctioneer said, without a trace of a tremor in her voice, ‘for the Ring of All Seasons.’ She looked round. ‘Going …’ She knocked her gavel. ‘Gone.’
The room erupted. People pressed forward, seeking to congratulate the winner even though it was obvious that he was merely a proxy. From out of nowhere, two armed guards appeared, striding towards the male model and taking possession of the ring. Devereau didn’t watch any of it, however. He kept his focus on Solentino. The man got up to his feet, took one swift glance at the ring, and spun away, marching down the aisle and towards the exit with Alina close behind him. Alina’s expression was tight and, despite the smile she openly displayed, there was a cold anger lurking behind her eyes. Devereau found it fascinating. Everything about her, from her perfect make-up to her expensive clothes and her seemingly benign expression was designed to make onlookers register her exterior without delving any further to the woman beneath. Whatever else she was thinking, she really had wanted that ring. It was probably why she’d approached Devereau before the auction had begun. She’d been concerned that he was one of the many supes in attendance who’d wanted to bid on it and she’d been scoping out the competition.
Unlike his girlfriend, Solentino wasn’t attempting to conceal his rage. His white cheeks were flushed with anger and his mouth was pursed tight. Even his fists were clenched. Hmmm. The last time Devereau had seen someone that upset at losing out on an object had been when Alice was three years old and she’d tried to snatch another kid’s Barbie doll at the park. It was entirely befuddling that such an innocuous looking object could cause such a reaction in a grown man. Fortunately, however, it also gave Devereau the perfect opportunity to slide into Christopher Solentino’s good books.
Chapter Five
Devereau didn’t bother followingSolentino out of the hotel. Thanks to Sarah Greensmith’s file, he’d already memorised where the man lived. Whether he was going home or heading to a nearby bar to drown his sorrows with Alina didn’t matter. Either way, trailing after him would be far too obvious – and therefore a complete waste of his time. Instead, Devereau ordered another beer from the bar and waited for the proxy who’d bought the enigmatic Ring Of All Seasons to complete any necessary paperwork and make his exit.
Devereau was halfway down the bottle when he sensed the approach. Turning, he recognised the female werewolf from the auction. Her shoulders were dropped and her head was tilted down, both hallmarks that she was acknowledging lupine submission. Her words, however, were far from respectful.
‘When did you fucking get here?’ she hissed, keeping her voice low.
Devereau allowed his mouth to curve into an easy smile. He didn’t know why she was acting so overtly antagonistic but he wasn’t going to rise to her bait. ‘It’s lovely to make your acquaintance,’ he said, holding his hand out to shake hers.
She kept her eyes down but he couldn’t mistake the flash of rage in her expression. ‘When did you get here?’ she bit out once more, ignoring his proferred handshake.
He raised an eyebrow. She was like a dog with a bone. What did it matter? He considered how to answer her and then shrugged to himself and opted for the truth. Spy or not, his time of arrival was hardly a state secret. ‘This afternoon,’ he said. ‘Not long after three.’ He paused. ‘So I’ve not had time to do any sightseeing yet but if you have any recommendations I’d be thrilled to hear them.’
The wolf glanced down at the slender gold watch on her wrist. ‘You’re sailing close to the wind,’ she told him. ‘The only sightseeing you need to be doing is Piazza Armerina.’ She raised her eyes, meeting his directly for only the briefest of seconds. ‘You don’t have long left.’ She scowled and turned on her heel, quickly marching away.
Devereau watched her go. Clearly, he was missing something. That was the second person who’d mentioned this mysterious piazza to him. Under other circumstances, he would have gone after her to find out what she had been referring to. At that very moment, however, the suited man who’d bid for the ring walked out of the auction room with the two armed men by his sides.
It was obvious from the way the men held themselves that they were professionals, likely ex-military. While Devereau was reasonably certain that in a fair fight he could take them both on and win, he knew such a move wouldn’t be prudent. Werewolf or not, success here would depend on stealth and brains. Luckily for Sarah Greensmith and the rest of MI5, he wasn’t always as dumb as he acted. He felt his body relax. Walking into an overtly posh auction and playing a role might have made him feel nervous and out of his depth but now he was more at home. What was about to happen was Devereau’s bread and butter. Or at least it used to be.
Delving into his pocket, he withdrew the packet of cigarettes he’d purchased at the airport and ambled outside to the front of the hotel. He stepped away from the door to loiter by the ashtray helpfully provided by Hotel Condotti and slid out a single cigarette, lighting it and blowing out a single puff of smoke as a beast of a car pulled up and all three men also exited the hotel. The suited proxy was gingerly holding a small box in both hands. No doubt the little box contained the ring. The armed guards were taking no chances, their eyes sweeping from left to right and their hands hovering over their bulging guns. Neither left the proxy’s side for a moment. All three of them slid into the backseat of the large car, with the two guards giving Devereau little more than a cursory glance.That’s right, he thought.I’m just another nicotine addict stymied by the laws on indoor smoking. There’s nothing to see here.He took another drag while the car pulled away, turning left into the narrow street. As soon as it did so, he hastily stubbed the cigarette out and ran.
By the time he reached the corner and turned, the car was already halfway down the street. At least the roads in this part of Rome weren’t particularly wide. It meant that the vehicle’s speed would be hampered somewhat. Devereau sent a silent prayer to whichever gods might be listening that this would only be a short journey and that the car would remain within the city limits – because he’d have no hope on any motorways or even country roads. And then he sprinted at the wall of the nearby trattoria and hauled himself up onto its roof. Thirty seconds later, as the massive car was halted by the red gleam of traffic lights at the next crossing, Devereau drew level with it, gazing down from his rooftop vantage point. The buildings around here were low rise and densely packed together and he was easily nimble enough to maintain a good speed even on slippery roof tiles. It wouldn’t matter how cautious they were being, the men in the car below would have no idea that they were being followed.
The lights changed and the car turned right. Devereau followed from the rooftops, remaining level with it. He had to keep his body low in order to maintain his centre of gravity, and the exertion meant that he soon felt a slick sheen of sweat form across his skin, but the car continued to move at a slow pace and when he was forced to leap across a two metre gap between buildings, he remained apace.
They continued straight for about half a mile. There was a fair number of pedestrians on the street below and Devereau’s stomach grumbled at the smells rising up from the various well lit restaurants. He promised himself a decent meal later. He would deserve it.
Up ahead the road was clearly widening out. Devereau fixed his gaze on the wider boulevard which ran perpendicular to this one and considered the options. If the car headed in any direction other than to the right, he would no longer be able to track it from the rooftops. He would have to risk dropping back down to street level. There were no taxis in sight but it was always possible that he could steal a moped or a bike and keep up with the car for at least another few miles or so if need be. Chance would be a fine thing.
He sped up, taking advantage of the flat roof ahead of him. Pulling ahead of the car, he reached the crossroad before it did, allowing him precious seconds to survey all the possibilities. The only visible parked cars and motorbikes were in a well lit area directly in front of a busy looking café. Stealing any of those vehicles was a non-starter. He hissed slightly in irritation and waited to see what the car would do.
It paused for a few beats. Then it trundled straight ahead, crossing over the wide boulevard with its bright street lamps before continuing down the opposite street. Devereau cursed silently. Still, he was nothing if not adaptable. He sucked in a breath and jumped, landing on two feet onto the pavement below. There was a jarring thud and a bolt of agony ran down his spine. He shook off the pain and forced a grin at the gaping couple who’d been wandering hand in hand down the street and who had stopped in their tracks when he’d suddenly appeared.
‘Ciao!’
He didn’t wait to hear if they responded. Instead he took off, sprinting across the boulevard in the same direction which the car had taken. The moment he left the bright lights of the wide road behind him, and he registered the tail lights of the heavy car disappearing down the darker street ahead of him, he tensed his muscles and called on his wolf. And even though it had barely been twenty-four hours since the full moon extravaganza had ended, it answered.
He burst out of his clothes, transforming from man to beast. It was a shame about the expensive suit but he’d bill MI5 later. Right now, he was on a mission. He leapt forward, breaking into a four legged run. There were enough shadows that he could remain concealed from the view of any passersby – as long as he didn’t come across anyone walking directly towards him on this side of the road. He doubted that the Italian authorities would be impressed at an English werewolf running through their quiet streets at night time so he’d simply have to cross his claws and hope that this gamble paid off.
As soon as he was less than twenty metres away from the black car, he switched tactics, abandoning the relative safety of the shadows for the more dangerous open road. He couldn’t risk the car’s occupants noticing any movement so, to avoid raising the faintest of suspicions, this was the safest move. He sprang into the centre of the road, angling his long, fur covered body so that it was directly behind the car itself and only just to the right of the exhaust pipe. None of the mirrors would reflect his presence if he remained in this spot. As long as he kept his muzzle within striking distance of the car’s rear, the people inside wouldn’t see him. Unfortunately, the drunk guy on the pavement to his right did notice him, staggering to a stop and staring at him slack-jawed. Devereau maintained his speed but couldn’t prevent himself from tensing. The car didn’t slow down, however, so he had to assume that neither the driver nor the other men had noticed.
They continued for several hundred feet. It wasn’t difficult to keep up with the car but the further they travelled, the more concerned he became that it wouldn’t be long before they hit yet another well lit road where more people would notice him. He bunched up his muscles, his tension growing, but when the car began to indicate left and began to finally slow down, he felt a burst of optimism. From his left, there was a sudden mechanical whirring sound akin to a gate or a garage being opened. Devereau breathed out. It appeared they’d reached their destination. Praise be.
Committed to this course of action, Devereau made sure to keep his body low and his nose touching against the car’s bumper while it swung to the left and slowly rolled through the large heavy gates which had opened up. Together they descended into an illuminated carpark which appeared to be underground. Unfortunately Devereau was unable to make out anything from his current vantage point beyond what lay to his immediate right and left.
As soon as the ground levelled out, he detached himself from the rear of the car and sprang towards an ostentatious Bentley which was large enough to provide the cover he needed to conceal himself. He lowered his belly to the ground and waited. The driver of the car reversed it into one of the empty parking bays and turned off the engine. Devereau held his breath while the car doors opened and the men slipped out.
He tilted his head, listening. Not one of them said anything. All he could hear above their combined breath sounds were four distinct pairs of feet walking away from him. Then a door opened and everything went quiet. He waited for one long moment until he was confident that he was alone and none of the men were returning. Even the driver had vanished. He permitted himself a tiny rumble of satisfaction then rose up and looked around.
