The Lost: Book Two of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 8

"Brady Street Cemetery? Why here? Why Whitechapel?" Edward scratched at his beard and scowled deeply, his black eyes glowering under thick brows.

The hearth was cold and blackened with ash. I sat on the rug in front of the great fireplace, picking at the frayed edge of the carpet.

Harper was staring at me. I didn't need to look up to know that his eyes were upon me. I could feel them tracing a path across my skin, like fingertips running across my eyelids, my cheekbones, my lips. I concentrated on the rug, pulling on a thread and winding it around my forefinger.

"Because it's our territory. And what better way to placate us than by agreeing to meet on our ground?" Garrick said. "And although the cemetery is closed to the public, it is surrounded on all sides by blocks of flats. Any attack would be seen and heard. They are making a statement: We will not harm you. And why would they? It is to their benefit that this meeting goes ahead, as does the deal."

I couldn't resist glancing sullenly over at Garrick, who sat behind Benjamin's desk, his long legs splayed out in front of him as he slouched arrogantly in his seat. He caught my stare and raised an eyebrow, challenging me to speak up.

I said nothing. He wanted the argument. I could feel it as much as I could still feel Harper's eyes upon me. And I wanted neither. I wanted to sleep without dreaming. I wanted to be awake without seeing. Open my eyes. Close my eyes. It was all the same in the end because what Lucius had shown me would never leave me now.

"Well in that case, we'd better be prepared," sniffed Edward.

"Oh don't worry, old friend," Garrick said, still staring at me. "We will be."

Biting my tongue, I stalked out of the room although I didn't get far before someone grabbed hold of my arm and I was whirled around to find Harper there, his eyes scrutinising mine as if searching for something hidden deep within.

"What's going on?" he said.

"What do you mean?" I feigned innocence but knew immediately my voice sounded weak and unconvincing. He dug his fingers into my arm as his grip tightened.

"Don't treat me like a fool, Megan. I know you. And this isn't you. You're not talking to anyone. You've been spending way too much time with the boy even though I know you can't stand to be near him. And you just let Garrick openly goad you and yet you said nothing."

"And what do you expect me to say to him?" I snapped, yanking my arm out of his grasp yet still feeling the imprint of his fingers on my skin. "That we don't need to do a deal with the Varúlfur to prove anything? That this deal has nothing to do with wanting peace for our kind and everything to do with lining his pockets? It's pointless, Harper. Everything is pointless."

I slumped back against the wall and tore my eyes from his, no longer able to bear the heavy touch of his gaze.

"Pointless?" he raised an eyebrow, but I saw the flicker of doubt ripple across his face.

"Haven't you said the same yourself? There's no hope. There is nothing more for us."

"But you don't believe that? You never did. And now all of a sudden you don't want to fight? Why?"

The suspicion was raging through him, clawing at him and refusing to let go.

"Because this whole thing fucking reeks, that's why. We shouldn't be doing any kind of deal with them, especially not one involving selling a child."

"He's not...."

"Don't you dare," I hissed. "Go down to his room, Harper. Go and look at him surrounded by all his toys and books and wearing those bloody Buzz Lightyear socks and tell me he is not a child!"