Page 57 of Licence To Howl
Devereau hissed in irritation. He knew the light hearted banter was Scarlet and Moretti’s way to diffuse the tension of the situation and to convey their confidence that Vissier would soon be in their custody. But it still annoyed him. As childish as it was, he wanted to be the only damned supe that teased Scarlett like that.
‘Aw. The English wolf wants us to think he’s the best supe.’ Moretti reached across and chucked him under the chin.
Devereau gave him a hard frown. ‘Let’s focus, shall we?’ He marched ahead until he was level with the front door. The young woman loitering outside glanced at him with vague disinterest, dismissing him quickly when she decided he wasn’t someone who could help with her particular needs. Devereau noted the bruises and track marks on her arms and felt a wave of empathy that he knew she wouldn’t appreciate. She sniffed and turned away, starting to walk down the street and away from him with a curiously bow-legged gait. Devereau watched her retreat for a moment or two. Then he turned to the house.
‘Ready?’ Moretti asked, walking up with Scarlett.
He nodded. ‘I only want Vissier. Nobody else is to be hurt.’
‘Not a problem.’ Moretti whistled, raising one hand and circling the air with his index finger to indicate to his waiting wolves that they were ready. ‘Let’s go get’im.’
‘No.’ He set his jaw. ‘I should go in alone.’
‘You want to play sole hero, Englishman?’ Moretti asked.
‘It’s not about that.’ Devereau glanced at Scarlett’s scowl. ‘I know places like this,’ he said. ‘I know how to act in a manner which will not draw trouble or attention. The two of you, not to mention all those other werewolves, will stick out like a sore thumb. You’re more likely to cause problems rather than solve them. You don’t belong somewhere like here. I do.’ He smiled faintly. ‘Or at least I belong more than you do. We need Vissier to talk. We don’t need him injured.’
A muscle throbbed in Moretti’s jaw. ‘My werewolves would not hurt him unless I told them to.’
‘I know that,’ Devereau said calmly. ‘But Vissier might injure himself in an attempt to escape. There are others inside that building too. I can conduct myself in a way that won’t draw either their suspicion or their ire. Those people will be closer to me and my kind than they ever will be to you and yours. It’d be better if you stay out here in case Vissier does decide to run. In that case, it’s open season. But let me make the initial approach on my own.’ He met Moretti’s eyes. Both men knew he wasn’t asking but instructing. Fortunately, for once, the Italian didn’t let his own ego get in the way.
‘Very well,’ he bit out.
Scarlett folded her arms. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘But you know this is the best way.’
Her mouth tightened. ‘I still don’t like it.’
Devereau grinned at her. ‘Thank you, Scarlett.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Just don’t fuck this up.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
The stenchthat assailed Devereau’s nostrils as soon as he pushed open the door and crossed into the all-but derelict building was quite something. Stale body odour combined with the pervasive smell of damp, potent alcoholic beverages and vomit. Underlying it were the odours of both desperate desire and depressed resignation. Yeah. Devereau knew this smell. It wasn’t any different to a hundred different places he’d been to in London in his previous life as a human. When you reached the dark bottom of a bottomless pit, this was the kind of place you ended up. It was an easier situation to fall into than most people realised. But Devereau was also aware that there was a camaraderie amongst those who’d dropped through the holes in the fabric of society that people on the outside wouldn’t recognise. They wouldn’t take well to threats against one of their own, no matter who that person was or whether he truly belonged there. That was one of the reasons why he was better doing this alone.
As if he’d flicked a switch, his demeanour altered dramatically now that he was inside. His shoulders dropped and, while his facial expression remained unchanged, his body language exuded menace and fear all at the same time. One emotion fed the other but being able to put on a front that included both was something that the most skilled actor would struggle with. You had to understand the emotions to be able to present them effectively. And Devereau understood. It didn’t matter that he didn’t speak Italian. His aura would do all of the talking.
Side-stepping a pile of stained blankets, Devereau walked into the first room. There was a couple huddled together on a dirty sofa and a man humming to himself from a rug on the floor. All three of them glanced up at him before their eyes slid away less out of intimidation and more out of recognition as a kindred spirit. He grunted an acknowledgment. No Vissier here then.
Devereau turned, ignoring the heavy creak of the floorboards, and headed for the narrow staircase. He toed aside some of the strewn litter blocking his path and then ascended. Tinny dance music was throbbing from one of the rooms on the first floor. Devereau looked in at the half dozen or so people dancing inside. Half of them were moving to the beat of the music. The other half seemed to be in a world of their own, their bodies swaying to a rhythm all of their own.
A young woman barged past him, her body brushing against his shoulder. She glared at him for getting in her way as she was trying to leave. Devereau gave her a wide smile in return but made sure not to allow it to touch his eyes. She recoiled slightly and continued on her way. Devereau elected to go towards the direction from which she’d come.
The further he went, the darker the house seemed to become. There were a lot of nooks and crannies where someone could hide. It made sense that Geraint Vissier would choose to come somewhere like this. Nobody would think to look for him here without a solid tip-off like the one Moretti had received. And yet Devereau doubted that the Dutchman was comfortable here. From what little he’d gleaned of the man during Solentino’s lunch, he was a nervy sort of fellow as well as fastidious. He’d be used to far more sanitary conditions than here. Devereau considered the matter before tipping his head upwards. Vissier would want to keep himself to himself and away from the taint of the decrepit house. He was a penthouse kind of a man.
With that thought in his mind, Devereau abandoned his attempts to search every single room and instead quickly continued upwards to the top of the house. The higher he went, the more draughty the building became. The debris on the stairs became harder to navigate and it appeared that a large amount of the roof which had caved in had fallen inside. With the remnants of old roof slates and chunks of brick, it was impossible to attempt to move silently so Devereau didn’t bother trying to be quiet. He simply ensured that his steps were unhurried so that anyone listening in from above wouldn’t be threatened by a sense of approaching urgency.
He passed a few more people, marvelling at how many were actually inside the house in total and glad that he’d come alone. There was no doubt in his mind that at least several of the current residents were armed with knives at the very least and that any sort of incursion by a large group of werewolves on the hunt would only have resulted in unnecessary bloodshed and pain. It wasn’t the wolves he was protecting; it was the sorry human beings who’d ended up here. They deserved better than this. Everyone did.
By the time he was on the final flight of stairs, Devereau could see the darkening sky from above through the gaping hole in the roof. He could also hear steady breathing from someone who was above him. When he rounded the last corner, and his eyes fell on the huddled shape wrapped in a blanket on the broken landing on the top floor, he knew he’d found Vissier.
‘You,’ the Dutchman gasped. ‘You. How did you find me?’ Vissier fumbled underneath the blanket and, a moment later, produced a gun. He wasted no time in pointing it directly at Devereau’s head.
‘I’m not responsible for what happened to Christopher Solentino,’ Devereau said calmly. ‘No matter what you think you saw. I arrived at the apartment only minutes before you did. You know I was at the Colosseum. You know I wouldn’t have had the time to kill all those people.’
He wasn’t sure that Vissier had heard him. The man’s hands were shaking, causing the muzzle of the gun to jerk. ‘I’ve got silver bullets,’ he quavered. ‘And I will shoot.’
