She was sewing the hem of her new pair of pants when the police rang the doorbell.
Mr. Brooks kicked and trashed for all he was worth but the massive men pried him from the woman and subdued him.
“She’s dead,” the Alpha said. “Wrap her up.”
The wound in her neck seemed consistent with the one on the first body. The Elders would enjoy having one more proof against the stupid newborn who exposed them. As if the werewolves witnessing a public feeding wasn’t enough for the old man to receive the ultimate bite. At least there wasn’t any human around.
“Calm down, vampy. You’re neck deep in shit no matter what you do now. Don’t force me to bite you.” While the Alpha could probably get away with the execution without a trial if it proved necessary, he would lose his pay bonus for sure.
Mr. Brooks lost his will to fight as soon as the feeding frenzy receded. “What are you?” The smell of his assailants wrinkled his nose.
“To you, I’m ‘yeah sure, Officer’,” the Alpha growled for emphasis before he turned to his men. One of them threw the wrapped cadaver over his shoulder. “Good, let’s go.”
Mr. Brooks knew he was no match for the young, strongly built pack and opposed no resistance when they carried him out a minute before the train arrived.
Their secrets were safe.
She paled as soon as she saw the uniforms and almost fainted when she looked at the officers’ face. All the papers had written about how deformed the body was when it washed up on the beach. Twenty-five, brown hair. And her son hadn’t answered his cellphone when she called.
She phased out while the officers explained the reason of their visit. She didn’t need to hear it. She didn’t want to. She nodded at irregular intervals and thanked them when they offered their condolences. They weren’t sure when her son’s body would be released for the burial.
She closed the door when they turned their back and crumbled to the floor.
Mr. Brooks couldn’t stop staring – though he had been properly raised not to do so. The hall rose several feet high, like a cathedral despite being underground. The soft lighting revealed frescoes showing a variety of sharply fanged monsters battling against furry ones. The far wall showed both species shaking hands.
The characters towered over a row of six people, half of them rather flimsy compared to their over-build neighbours.
“Or are they?” Mr. Brooks wondered.
A sizable audience sat in the bleachers around the room, silent and oppressive. The mix of scents tickled Mr. Brooks’ nose. Some spectators were like him. Some were like ‘yeah sure, Officer.’
The Alpha pushed Mr. Brooks to the central area while his man unwrapped the body on a nearby table.
“Noble Elders!” The Alpha and his men curtsied. “I deliver the vampire responsible for the recent fiasco. We witnessed him killing in the SkyTrain station this very night.”
“Bloody hell!” The tall and skinny vampire in his twenties wore an old looking velvet coat. “Have you no control grandpa?”
“Have you no respect for your elders?” Mr. Brooks had no intention to let a kid bully him.
The crowd gasped but the young man sitting directly to the left of the first speaker burst into laughter, his large cowboy hat’s shadow barely hiding his reddened face. “Quite a wise ass that one, huh?” The crowd burst in laughter. “You were turned what? A month ago tops? You wouldn’t think so because he got stuck in Victorian London but he’s a thousand years old.”
“And you’re mad as a hatter if you thought we’d let your messy kills slide! Ultimate bite!”
The Alpha moved in to execute the sentence.
“It’s not my fault. It just takes over!”
The crowd suddenly grew completely silent.
Mr. Brooks wasn’t necessarily against his death; it was better than having a hunger attack while he was with his daughter. However, he didn’t want to be accused without proper trial.
“You wait for the frenzy to kick in before you feed?” The woman looked like a living statue.
“I didn’t know I had to feed like that. And when it’s gone I don’t have the force to move the body.” Mr. Brooks hated how whiny he sounded but he wouldn’t let a dog-smelling man maul him for something he had no control over.
“Tell me, kiddo,” Cowboy Hat said, “who turned you?”
Mr. Brooks shrugged. “I don’t know anything about this.”
“That explains why he isn’t more scared of Drake. Or us.” The woman whispered to the Englishman. “Wolves are our Kryptonite.” She added for Mr. Brooks benefit. “The only thing that can kill us, really. And vice versa.”
“Don’t educate him! He deserves death,” the Englishman belted. The crowd approved.
“But he has no idea what he’s into!” the woman said.
“Yep. His maker’s the one I’d rip to shreds.” The crowd shut up. “Seriously, who’s the dumbass who turned a grandpa to begin with?”
“Likely an accident.”
“Which makes him dumbasser.” Cowboy stood up. “All in favour of adopting the newborn pappy and shredding his sorry excuse for a maker, growl.”
The sound was deafening and everything had happened very fast but somehow, Mr. Brooks was at peace. With his new family’s help, he might be able to visit his daughter without risk.
In her house, a mother cried the loss of her son. Alone. Forgotten.
That was where her husband found her when he came back from work after picking the two remaining kids up at school.