Page 3 of Licence To Howl
Devereau took an overly casual sip of his beer. ‘You run this place?’ he asked.
‘Yeah.’ Hitchens looked him up and down. ‘Whatchoo doing here? We don’t usually get the likes of you walking through those doors.’
‘I was in the area and I fancied a pint,’ Devereau told him. Then, with a hint of a challenge in his voice, he added, ‘Is that a problem?’
Ronnie Hitchens held his hands up. ‘No problem at all. I don’t care what or who you are. Your money’s as good as the next man’s.’
The old woman coughed.
‘Or woman’s,’ Hitchens said quickly.
‘Here’s your food,’ the bartender said, sliding a plate across the bar top towards Devereau before stepping hastily away.
Devereau nodded in brief acknowledgment and, using his fingers, picked up the nearest beef patty and took a large bite.
If Hitchens was disturbed by his choice of meal, he didn’t show it. ‘Tell me something,’ he said, ‘man to man. Why’d you do it?’
Devereau swallowed his mouthful. ‘Do what?’
‘You were the Shepherd. You had a good thing going. Why’d you ruin it by becoming a supe?’
‘You know who I am?’
Hitchens met his eyes. ‘Everyone knows who you are.’
Devereau reached for a second burger. ‘Maybe,’ he said, ‘I felt like a new challenge.’
‘Uh huh.’
Or maybe,’ Devereau continued, ‘I wanted to feel what it was like to have some real power.’
Hitchens’ eyes gleamed. ‘You’ve got power?’
Hardly any. Not yet anyway. Devereau smiled. ‘Lots.’
Hitchins wasn’t giving up yet. ‘I heard your old lot chucked you out. That the Flock don’t want a Shepherd who’s also a wolf.’
‘Some people don’t know what’s good for them.’
Hitchins chuckled. ‘Ain’t that the truth.’ He shook his head in amusement. ‘Ain’t that the truth indeed.’ And then, with a right hook so swift that Devereau didn’t see it coming, he punched him in the side of the face. Almost simultaneously, something hard and heavy hit the back of Devereau’s head. The half eaten patty slid from his hand and landed on the dirty floor. A moment later he joined it, his knees buckling. He groaned from the bursts of pain on both sides of his skull while Ronnie Hitchens bent down, his face looming over him. ‘You ain’t got that much power at all,’ he commented. ‘And you definitely don’t know what’s good for you either.’
Devereau blinked. His vision was blurring. He stared at the feet of the two labourers who were directly in front of him and tried to focus, in a vain bid to hold onto the last slip of consciousness left to him. All he needed to do was call on his wolf and then Ronnie fucking Hitchens would see what he was really about. He reached for the animal inside him, attempting to stir it into action yet again. But as the two pairs of feet became indistinct and he tasted the unpleasant metallic edge on his tongue, he knew he was already out of time.
* * *
The waterwhich splashed in his face was icy cold. Devereau choked and spluttered, gasping for air. He jerked his arms, in an unconscious bid to wipe the water from his face. Unfortunately, however, his hands appeared to be bound fast behind him. He shifted his body. There was rope round his waist and chest, tying him to the very chair he was sat upon. At least his legs and feet appeared to be free.
‘Wakey wakey! Rise and shine!’
Devereau shook his head to rid himself of the dribbling water, sending a shower of droplets into the face of Ronnie Hitchens, who was smiling unpleasantly towards him. Hitchens took out a spotted handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his skin with it.
‘Attacking a werewolf is not only dangerous,’ Devereau hissed, realising from the smell that he’d been shoved into a small back room of the same pub, ‘but downright foolish. You’re going to regret this.’
‘We shall see about that,’ Hitchens replied calmly. ‘It’s not as if you have a clan at your back who will spring into action on your behalf. You’re a lone wolf. You don’t have a pack of your own. Even the humans who once followed you have fallen by the wayside.’ Hitchens dropped the handkerchief unceremoniously on the floor. ‘So unless you’re planning to break free and rip my throat out, I reckon I’ll be fine and dandy.’
Right now that was exactly what Devereau was planning. When he reached for his wolf again, however, nothing happened. And he could still taste something unpleasant on his tongue. This was not supposed to happen.
As if he knew what he was trying – and failing – to do, Ronnie Hitchens smirked. Then he grabbed a nearby chair and swung it round, perching himself on it back to front with his legs straddling the seat and his arms draped casually over the chair’s back. ‘So now that you know you’re not going anywhere, why don’t you answer a few of my questions?’
