Changeling (8 page)

Lucien sat down on the nearest sofa and gestured for his daughter and Trey to sit on the other. He sighed as he allowed his back to merge with the soft leather cushion behind him. Steepling his hands together, he gently tapped the backs of his thumbs against his bottom lip, unwilling or uncertain how to begin the task ahead of him.

‘I want to ask you how much you know about yourself, Trey,’ he said after a long pause. ‘But that would be entirely unfair of me after I have promised you answers and not questions. So I shall start by telling you some things about who you are and what you are, and you can fill in any gaps. Is that OK?’ he asked, a sympathetic look on his face.

‘As I have already told you, I knew your mother and father, and I deeply respected and . . . loved them both. Your father and I shared certain . . . skills and interests, and we used these resources to try to do some good in the world.’ He stopped and smiled at Trey. ‘Your father, Daniel, was a great man, and you should feel hugely proud about the difference that he made to a great number of people’s lives. I will provide you with the means to find out very much more about your parents, especially your father and the work that he did, so that you can understand a little better where you come from.’

‘He was an architect,’ Trey interrupted.

‘No, Trey. Your father was not an architect. He did help to build great things, but he did that by fighting against those that would have anything decent and virtuous in this world reduced to pain and filth and misery. Ultimately this struggle led to his untimely death, but before this he was nothing less than a brilliant beacon that was never afraid to cast its light and fire into the darkness that threatens us all.’

‘Lucien, you’re not making any sense. What is this all about?’ Trey asked.

‘There are people, and
things
, in this world that constantly strive to destroy everything that you and I would consider good. Pitched against these are those like your father, who, in spite of the awesome power of the enemy, are committed to obstructing them in their quest.’

Tom quietly entered the room and sat on the arm of the sofa.

Lucien continued. ‘We in this room are committed to continuing the struggle that your father gave his life for. Like your father, we use our gifts and powers to try to stem the evil that others would unleash upon humanity. Trey, we would like you to join us.’

Trey looked at the people around him. The grave looks upon their faces merely added to how he felt about the utter ludicrousness of what he was hearing. ‘Are you all mad? Or is it me that has completely come off the rails?’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘First you tell me that you’re a vampire, Alexa appears to have hypnotized me in some way to make me believe in telepathy, and now you’re banging on about some titanic struggle between good and evil that you and my father were involved in. Then . . . then you sit there straight-faced and tell me that you want me to
join
you! This is insane, Lucien! I’m just a fourteen-year-old kid, who, until today, didn’t believe in vampires and whose only experience of them was exterminating them on his games console!’

Lucien stood and faced Trey, his eyes scanning the boy’s face. ‘No, Trey, you’re not just some fourteen-year-old kid – not after last night. Because, last night, although you have no memory of it, you experienced for the first time the full revelation of what you really are. You are a lycanthrope: a werewolf.’

Trey stood there, his mouth hanging wide open as he shook his head in bewildered disbelief. ‘Yeah, yeah, of course I am,’ he said eventually, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘I’m a werewolf, you and her are vampires, and I suppose old Tom over there is a zombie or something, eh?’

‘Zombie, indeed!’ Tom responded, ‘I wouldn’t wipe my arse with zombies. Dirty, stupid, foul creatures they are – too stupid to know that they should stay dead. I’m one hundred per cent human and just you remember that. And less of the old, you cheeky little git.’

Lucien looked over at Tom, stopping the other man saying more before continuing: ‘It’s true, Trey. You are the child of werewolf parents. That makes you incredibly rare. We believe that you might be the last
hereditary werewolf
in existence
–
meaning that you inherited the condition, as opposed to those that actively seek to become werewolves or those that survive an attack. As such, you have tremendous inborn powers, but now that these have become manifest there are huge dangers that threaten your very existence, and—’

‘Madness,’ Trey interrupted, still shaking his head. ‘If I
was
a werewolf –
which
I am not – how do you explain that I have never run out in the middle of the night and howled at a full moon, or woken up in a forest somewhere after tearing out the throat of some poor unsuspecting virgin? Surely even a very young werewolf must be a bit of a handful when he is growing up?’

‘A male lycanthrope can only transform from the human form to the wolf form when the levels of testosterone in his body rise above a certain level,’ Alexa said. ‘Before that, there are very few signs of what he will become. In changing from a boy to a man, the wolf that has lain dormant inside you for so long has been released.’

‘Last night you transmogrified for the first time,’ Lucien explained. ‘Luckily you were alone in your room at the time, or I shudder to think what the consequences might have been. As I have explained to you, Trey, I have been keeping a careful and watchful eye on you ever since your parents died, and had hoped that I might be able to intercede before this moment came. Unfortunately that was not possible and I am deeply sorry for what happened to you yesterday evening. I take full responsibility and hope that you can forgive me.’

‘What
did
happen to me?’ Trey’s voice sounded thin and papery inside his head. ‘Please God, tell me that I didn’t kill anybody.’

‘No, of course you didn’t.’ Lucien reached out a hand to touch the boy, but instinctively drew it back, aware of how fragile he seemed. ‘We would not have allowed such a thing to happen to you, Trey. Tom’s people have had the care home under constant surveillance since you were moved there three years ago. Our man was alerted as to what might happen yesterday night by Alexa – she has certain gifts that allow her to “tune in” to unusual occurrences – werewolves, vampires, demons, all nether-creatures produce a signal when they are on the human plane, and Alexa picked up yours. Tom’s man witnessed the whole thing and ensured that no harm came to you or anybody else. You simply broke free from your room and roamed around for a few hours before returning a little after four in the morning. We were able to keep track of you throughout – Tom’s people are very thorough.’

Lucien took a deep breath and went on: ‘You should know that there are two states of lycanthropy. The first, and by far the most dangerous to the shapeshifter himself, is the Wolfan. When the lycanthrope changes into this form, all vestiges of his humanity are lost to him. He becomes a giant wolf, an incredibly powerful monster with an evil desire to kill, often hunting down his prey and murdering it in horrific fashion. Each time the lycanthrope adopts this form his beast aspect grows in power and influence until it consumes him. He is then cursed to be subject to the control of the full moon forever and to obey the evil that has been sown within him. The Wolfan is the
normal
lycanthropic state.’

‘The other form,’ Alexa said, taking over from her father, ‘is known as bimorphism. This is when the lycanthrope changes into a half-man, half-wolf creature. He stands upright like a man, but his body is otherwise that of a wolf. He maintains his thought processes and intelligence, and wields a greater control over the more base urges within him. He will have superhuman strength as well as acute senses of hearing, sight and smell – which may take the form of synaesthesia . . .’

‘What on earth is that?’ asked Trey.

‘It’s a condition where smells are perceived as colours or sounds.’ Lucien explained, before allowing Alexa to continue.

‘He will have extraordinary powers of rejuvenation, making you – sorry, him – almost impossible to kill, and unlike those lycanthropes that have succumbed to the Wolfan, he will have the ability to change shape voluntarily, regardless of whether it is day or night, or indeed what phase the moon may be in.’

Trey pictured the chaos that he had woken up to in his room that morning. It had occurred to him at the time how much force it must have taken to destroy his trainers so utterly. And then there were the gouges in the metal frame of the window and the plaster walls.

A small icy shiver ran down his spine.

‘The amulet that I gave you was worn by your father.’ Lucien’s voice broke through his thoughts. ‘It is an ancient talisman that contains wolfsbane and can help the wearer control the transformation process. Moreover, its wearer will only ever transform into the bimorphic werewolf state that Alexa described, thus retaining his human faculties and intellect.’ He paused and held the teenager’s stare. ‘It cannot stop all involuntary changes that might occur when you feel extremely threatened or angry, but it allows you to control the condition that you have inherited from birth.’

‘I’ll get us some tea,’ said Tom, standing up and exiting the room.

‘Is there a . . . cure?’ Trey asked.

‘No. You don’t have a disease, Trey, although right now it must seem very much as if you do. But this is what you are. You’re a werewolf, and you will need to learn to cope with that.’

Trey looked at the faces of the two people left in the room with him, searching for some tiny signal that this was some kind of joke.

‘A werewolf,’ he eventually said. ‘How . . . ? I mean, I can’t be . . . it’s not possible . . .’

‘Here,’ said Lucien, reaching forward and sliding the book on the table across towards him. Trey turned it over in his hands and read the faded lettering of the title:
The Book of Werewolves
by Sabine Baring-Gould.

‘That should tell you almost everything that you need to know about your “condition”. There are also other books here in the library for you to explore, should you wish, but none are as comprehensive as that tome. It is not a reference book, Trey, but it should give you some background history about your kind. You will have questions. Lots and lots of questions. Ask anything you want, and Alexa and I will try to answer.’

Trey was numb. He realized how preposterous he must look, sitting there with his staring eyes and his mouth open. He tried to identify the emotion that filled him right now, struggling at first, until he realized that he had experienced it before. It was despair. It was the same feeling of soul-crushing despair that he had felt at the death of his grandmother, and now, as then, it seemed to have hollowed him out, leaving him completely numb.

Tom came back into the room. Trey didn’t look up until the awkward silence that followed had stretched out for some time. The look on the Irishman’s face did nothing to alleviate the utter dismay he was feeling. ‘I just had a call. You might want to come and see what’s on the news,’ he said. And then, under his breath, added in a whisper, ‘Then again, you might not.’

Lucien stopped as they entered the living room, turning to look at the television that was on and tuned in to one of the twenty-four-hour news channels. Text scrolled along the bottom of the screen and a sign in the top-left-hand corner announced that they were witnessing ‘Breaking News’.

‘Police are still trying to ascertain exactly how many people were in the building at the time of the fire . . .’ The reporter, holding a microphone bearing the name of his news channel, was standing in front of a cordoned-off area of police tape. Behind him a fire engine had pulled up – firefighters disembarked and instantly assumed the roles that they had practised a thousand times. Trey watched as a number of men in full safety equipment struggled against the power of the hose they were using to spray a thick, foaming substance into the heart of the flames. The reporter facing the camera had his collar up and shoulders hunched to shelter himself from the intense heat at his back.

‘. . . firefighters have been struggling for over an hour now to bring the situation under control,’ the reporter continued. ‘An insider within the force has told us that at this stage they cannot rule out foul play.’

Trey watched as a police officer ushered back a small crowd of people braving the cold night air to gawk at the conflagration. As the crowd moved back he caught a glimpse of a little lime-green car parked in one of the spaces behind the fire engine.

Wendy had bought the car from her mum when she had first got the job at the care home. She’d proudly driven it in on her third day, parking it in a spot just down from the one it was in now. The children had teased her about the car’s colour, calling it the Kermitmobile, but Wendy had just laughed along with them, telling them that it was her pride and joy. She even had a name for it, Trey remembered: Priscilla.

‘. . . early reports suggest that there were twelve children and five staff members at the home. It is not yet known how many, if any, managed to escape the blaze. This is Giles Fox, outside the Apple Grove Care Home, for Sky News.’

The picture cut back to the studio, where the anchorman introduced an expert on fire prevention. But for Trey the world had stopped turning. He was oblivious to everything around him, the picture of those flames licking at the sky from the roof of the building playing over and over in his mind.

He’d hated the care home. He’d hated the fact that he had to live there in its sterile, loveless atmosphere while other children lucky enough not to be abandoned or orphaned lived in
proper
homes. But seeing it in flames like that, hearing the news of the carnage that the fire appeared to have caused, made him feel . . . lost. Utterly lost. There was nothing now. There was no one and no thing that he could identify with or cling to for support, and he felt more alone than he had since his grandmother had died. He put his head in his hands and tried to hold back the blackness that built up inside him.

A huge, rending pain tore through his stomach and spread – like the fire on the screen that had ripped through that building – into every cell in his body. A high, keening screech escaped him and he sank to his knees, tearing at skin that felt as if a thousand rusted nails were bursting through its surface.