Page 62 of Licence To Howl
Devereau dipped his head in a lupine nod and lowered his body, sniffing the bitter air. The moaning, which had ceased briefly, had started up again and seemed to be coming from that direction. So did the human scent.
‘Out of the way,’ Scarlett ordered. ‘I’m smaller than you. You’ll have trouble fitting through that gap in that body.’
Devereau’s eyes narrowed. He could make it – if he breathed in and sucked in his stomach. Scarlett had already pushed past him, however, and was wiggling her way through.
‘Shit,’ he heard her say. Then, with more urgency, ‘shit.’
He didn’t bother wasting time. Transforming back into his human form so he could slide through after her, Devereau crouched down and ducked. When he saw what she’d found, he could repeat Scarlett’s own words. ‘Shit.’
There were two bodies, both of young boys. The nearest boy seemed almost completely unharmed – apart from his dull, staring eyes that was. His only visible injury was a trickle of congealed blood at his temple. He was definitely dead, unlike his companion who was covered in blood and whose legs were at such an angle that they had to be broken. That boy was still alive. His breath was shallow and if he didn’t receive medical attention, he wouldn’t last. But right now he was clinging on.
‘Choir boys probably,’ Scarlett muttered. ‘Doing nothing more than rehearsing an angelic chorus for Christmas.’ She cursed. ‘We have to get him out of here without causing further injury.’
Devereau stared at the boy’s young, innocent face. Beyond the dirt and the blood and the pain was a child who’d done no wrong. And next to him was his dead companion. Probably his friend. If Devereau had acted faster against Solentino, if he’d made different choices or done things in a different way, then this might not have happened. For one stark, horrible moment, it felt like his fault. Itwashis fault. Guilt and rage rampaged through him. He’d not been good enough or strong enough to prevent this from happening.
‘Devereau?’ Scarlett questioned.
‘Yeah.’ His voice sounded as if it were coming from a great distance. ‘I’ll take his head and shoulders. You take his feet. We can slip him through the hole and then I’ll transform and howl for help.’ He reached down with one hand and smoothed back the boy’s dark hair. ‘You’ll make this, kid. I promise you. You’ll make it.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dawn,when it finally came, felt like an affront. Despite the cold winter weather, the sun was determined to shine upon all of Rome. Instead of lifting moods, however, the contrast merely made everything appear worse – and in daylight the devastation caused by the explosion at the Pantheon was even more horrific.
Devereau sat on the edge of a pavement, gazing at the scene. One of the paramedics had sourced a space blanket for him, which helped to preserve his modesty – such as it was – given his clothes had been destroyed yet again in his sudden transformation, and keep him warm. What the blanket couldn’t do, of course, was make him feel any better on the inside.
‘Here.’ Scarlett handed him a hip flask. ‘I pilfered this from one of the journalists hanging around by the cordon. It’s good stuff.’
Devereau chose not to pass comment on her thievery and instead took a long draught. Scarlett was right - the whiskey was mellow and tasted of spicy peat and considerable expense. It still burned his throat as it went down, however. He gave the flask a morose glance and took another swig.
‘How many?’ he asked. ‘Do you know the total?’
Scarlett sighed and sat down next to him. ‘Including the three we found? Twenty-six alive. Thirty-eight dead. It could have been worse.’
Devereau looked at the smoking ruins. ‘Not for those thirty eight people and their families,’ he said quietly.
Scarlett lowered her head. ‘No, not for them,’ she agreed. She sighed. ‘It looks like the choirboy might make it.’
The heaviness around Devereau’s soul didn’t lift. ‘That’s something.’
‘Yeah. It is something.’ She bit her lip. ‘And clan Lupo are being hailed as heroes. It’ll help with the anti-supe sentiment that exists here as well as everywhere else even if it’s not usually as blatant in Rome as in London.’
Devereau nodded distractedly.
Scarlett continued, unwilling to allow him to mire himself in his own misery. ‘You said before that you know who’s behind all this.’
He ran a hand through his blond hair. It was caked with ash and dirt and goodness knew what else. It was better not to think about it. ‘Not for certain,’ he answered. ‘But I have strong suspicions.’ He passed the flask back to her and realised she’d lifted her head and was looking straight at him. Scarlett was in as much of a mess as he was and he longed to reach over and wipe away the smudges on her face. Despite the grime, her eyes still sparked. That was the definite gleam of intelligence and energy that he associated with her – but now it included something else. Retribution, he realised. Her eyes glinted with her own personal vow of retribution against whoever had caused this to happen.
Devereau drew in a breath. ‘Vissier told me a few things about Alina Bonnet when we had our little chat together. Such as how she had suggested Solentino get hold of the Ring Of All Seasons.’
Scarlett stilled. ‘Okay,’ she said slowly.
‘At the auction, she’d seemed desperately keen to get hold of the ring. But we all know that if it does allow the wearer to see into the future, it only works on the Winter Solstice and that’s still more than a week away. Maybe she wanted a reason for Solentino to delay his operation to blow shit up so she had time to get rid of him and take his place.’
Scarlett looked dubious. ‘It seems a stretch. We might not have found her body but there was a lot of her blood at the scene.’
‘True,’ Devereau conceded, ‘but the only reason we know it was Alina’s blood at all is because you drank from her. That’s incredibly convenient, don’t you think?’
‘Solentino forced her into that situation.’
