The Persecution of the Wolves

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

When the end of his shift came, Isaac extricated himself from the doctors’ surgery as quickly as he could without appearing rude. The last thing he needed right now was to start alienating people. Fortunately, he had a way with folk—he was often accused of being able to charm the birds from the trees—so he managed to leave with the minimum of fuss and cheerful words of farewell from the receptionist and the patients still waiting for their early evening appointments.

He had to resist the temptation to run or even jog home, as that would attract attention too. Chilled out nonchalance was the order of the day, and he walked through the sun-baked village more quickly than normal but without looking hurried. As luck would have it, he didn’t bump into anyone, didn’t have to put on any more of a façade, and he arrived home without incident.

Stepping through the front door, he called out for his brother. “Matthew?” It was pretty much always Matthew, as opposed to Matt. His sibling didn’t like his name being shortened and never had. The older man was so large and formidable-looking that when he asked people not to call him Matt, they very rarely attempted it again.

The response came, “In the kitchen.”

As his brother couldn’t see him, Isaac didn’t bother to hide his smile. He’d just make sure to wipe it away before he headed into the room. Matthew being in the kitchen basically meant that something good was happening—the man was a damn good cook, even though he claimed to dislike the act. Given their animal natures, the recipes pretty much always involved meat and lots of it. Isaac’s stomach grumbled, then his face fell as he realised what had driven his brother to cook. It was generally trouble or stress of some kind, and considering the morning’s happenings, it could only be one thing.

After dropping his keys on the side and putting his bag down by the phone table, he joined his brother in the kitchen. “Hi, Matthew. I won’t ask if you’re all right—it’s a silly question. Coffee?”

Matthew shook his head without looking up from his task of ladling stuff out of a crock pot and into two bowls. Beef stew, by the smell of it. “Hello, Isaac. No, I’m all right, thanks. I’ve had enough caffeine today. I’ve been next door for most of the day, and Mrs Smithers has been plying me with tea and coffee pretty much the whole time. I did get some of her homemade bread, though, so it wasn’t all bad. And her garden looks fantastic.”

By now, Isaac’s heart was in his shoes. Matthew cooking, refusing caffeine, and having been working his backside off next door meant things clearly had not gone well. He really didn’t want to ask, but he knew his brother had to leave for work soon, and he definitely didn’t want to have this conversation in the pub or put it off any longer.

“That’s great. About Mrs Smithers’s garden, I mean. So, um, what happened on the moor?”

The older man heaved a heavy sigh, turning with the two bowls and putting them down at the place settings he’d already laid on the table. He sat down and Isaac took his own seat.

“As you probably gathered from my text message, it wasn’t pretty. I could smell the damn thing before I even saw it, and poor Richard looked as though he was barely holding on to the contents of his stomach. I sent Alex and Kevin away, as they had to go to work, had a look around, then got out of there before the vicar threw up. I couldn’t find any evidence of anything, really, and the only smells I could pick up were the rotting flesh, the three men, and the two dogs. So we let the farmer know, and I presume by now he’s dealt with the corpse.” He picked up his spoon and began stirring the stew absentmindedly before scooping some up and eating it.

Isaac followed suit, despite feeling as though he couldn’t eat. Werewolves burned a lot of calories, so missing meals wasn’t going to do him any favours, especially not the day after a full moon. “Okay. So we have a dead sheep and no idea what did it.”

Matthew swallowed his mouthful, then replied, “Pretty much. It definitely wasn’t a natural death, and there’s no way carrion birds made that much mess in a few hours. It’s not impossible that it could have been a fox, but it was a damn big sheep, and the damage looked as though it was something bigger, stronger.”

“Like a wolf.”

“Yes, like a wolf. Except we know damn well it wasn’t us. I went online and looked to see if I could find information on any similar attacks in the area, to figure out if we might not be the only werewolves, but I got nothing.”

“You went online?” Isaac couldn’t hide his surprise.

His brother shot him a look. “Yes, little brother. I went online, on the internet, the worldwide bloody web or whatever other silly names you have for it. I had to do something. I don’t know whether I’m relieved or worried that there are no other werewolves in the area.”

“Because if there aren’t, then we’re the prime suspects, right?”

“Right. The vicar, Alex, Kevin, and Mrs Smithers are all on our side, know we wouldn’t do that, but four people fighting in our corner might not be enough if this thing escalates. And the fact it happened on a full moon hasn’t helped matters. If it happens again and it’s not on a full moon, then we’re golden.”

“But if it happens again and it is a full moon, then the s**t’s going to hit the fan.”

“Precisely. Which is why I’ve been googering—”

“You mean googling?”

“Whatever it damn well is. And sorting out next door’s garden and cooking. I’ll be glad to go to work so I can take my mind off all this s**t. If you get a chance, would you mind going on the internet and double checking? You’re the brains of the family, you might be able to turn up something I couldn’t. Maybe you could hack some records and find out if any other butchered corpses—sheep or otherwise—have been found.”

“You’ve been watching too much television, brother. Hacking isn’t that easy.” He was also surprised his straitlaced brother had suggested it. It showed his desperation, which added to Isaac’s sense of unease.

Without hesitation, Matthew replied, “For you it is. Just try, okay? Please. We need to get this sorted one way or another, and soon. Because the longer it goes on, the more people are going to start looking at us unfavourably. It hasn’t helped that this happened just after the anniversary of the plague. Everyone’s always a little more sensitive around this time of year.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Isaac said, “I’ll do my best, okay? I want to get this figured out as much as you do. What time do you have to go to work?”

Matthew glanced at his watch. “Seven. I’d better go and get ready now. I can’t go in there smelling like this—I’ll scare the punters off.”

“Even more than you already do?” It was a risky move, joking with Matthew when he was in a mood, but he had to do something to lighten the atmosphere. Fortunately, it worked. Matthew grinned, though the emotion didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Shut it, little brother. You’re never too old for a slap.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Making a rude gesture with his free hand, Matthew dug in to the rest of his meal, then clanged his spoon into the bowl and stood up from the table. “Just for that, you can wash up.” Clapping Isaac on the back much harder than was necessary, Matthew left the kitchen, chuckling.

Isaac rolled his eyes. He finished eating the rest of his stew, then put the bowls, spoons, and other utensils his brother had used to make the food into the dishwasher. “Bloody Luddite. Why on earth would I wash up when we have a dishwasher?”

After clearing and wiping the table and worktops, Isaac headed upstairs, glad they’d forked out the money to modernise their house throughout the centuries they’d lived there. It still looked old fashioned in terms of décor and furnishings—which suited his brother no end—but it had the modern conveniences they needed, which included en suites in both their bedrooms and the guest room, as well as the main bathroom. So he didn’t have to wait for his brother to finish before he could have a shower—he stripped off and hopped right in. Once he got cleaned up, he’d head back downstairs and do as Matthew suggested—have a double check online to see if there was anything he’d missed.

Knowing his brother couldn’t hear him through several closed doors and under the pouring water, he sighed. He might have tried to lighten the mood earlier, but there was no doubt in his mind about the s**t the two of them could be in if this situation wasn’t resolved quickly. A slaughtered sheep was bad enough, but the fact it had happened on a full moon spelled trouble for the Adams brothers. Yes, a few villagers would stand by them, but he had to admit it didn’t look good. If the roles were reversed, he’d probably be looking at the werewolves in town too.

After finishing in the shower, he headed back into his bedroom, grabbed his dirty clothes and shoved them in the hamper, then was about to search out his scruffy tracksuit bottoms and an equally scruffy T-shirt to lounge around in when he changed his mind. He’d head to the Miners Arms—the pub where Matthew worked—after he’d done his online sleuthing. If it was quiet enough and there were no prying ears, he could update his brother and also have a couple of pints to try to settle his nerves. It was better than sitting home alone with worrying thoughts going through his head, too.

Choosing one of his nicer pairs of jeans and a smart-casual T-shirt, he dumped them on the bed along with clean boxer shorts and socks, then sprayed on his deodorant and a splash of aftershave and got dressed. His chin-length, light brown hair was easily dealt with—a comb through it would do just fine. It would dry naturally and behave itself pretty well.

Leaving his room, he noted that Matthew had already gone, so he headed straight downstairs and switched on the computer. Within minutes he was searching the web for any information that could give an explanation for what had killed the sheep. The browser history showed his brother had already checked most of the obvious places, so he double checked them for peace of mind, then started digging deeper, in more obscure places. After coming up with absolutely nothing, he did indeed do a spot of hacking, accessing the police database to see if anything had come up that might not have been reported in the media. It was possible that if a creature had gone on the rampage only the previous night, the news might not have got out yet. Any more injured or slaughtered animals might not have been discovered if they were in remote areas.

Figuring he could keep checking back over the next few days to see if anything else turned up, Isaac shut down the PC, grabbed his wallet, and headed to the pub. His day at work had been tough, his evening tougher. He fancied and deserved a drink.

*****

He pushed open the door, then held it for the person trying to exit, who happened to be Amy Kennedy—Alex Kennedy’s daughter. She worked in the shop alongside her dad, and she harboured a major and not-very-secret crush on Matthew. She probably spent a small fortune in the Miners when his brother was working, despite the fact he’d never given her any indication he felt the same. It was irrelevant, of course, as the brothers had sworn off relationships, but even if they hadn’t, Amy wasn’t Matthew’s type. She was pretty enough, and a nice girl, but Matthew liked them feisty, fun, exciting. Everything Dorothy Smithers had been back in the day.

Isaac wondered if his brother still had feelings for the woman in spite of her age and the years that had passed. He also wondered how he could have got over a woman he’d never actually been with.

Shaking his head, he murmured a polite greeting to Amy as she passed through the doorway, then continued into the welcoming atmosphere of the public house. Isaac thought, as he often did, how amusing it was that he’d been drinking in here literally since it had opened in 1630. It had been called the King’s Head then, but as the local industry was mining, it had, at some point he couldn’t quite remember, changed names, as so many meetings of mine owners had been held within the four walls.

Stepping up to the bar, he nodded to his brother who was serving a pint to Gordon Bates, a villager even older than Dorothy Smithers who had also put a great deal of money behind the bar over the years. The old man raised his pint to Isaac, who smiled back, then drank long and deep.

“Hello again, brother,” Matthew said, moving to his end of the small bar. “Productive evening?” His tone made it clear what he was getting at.

“Sadly not. I did as you advised, but couldn’t find anything of use. I’ll check again over the next few days and see if anything new turns up. For now, I thought I’d socialise a bit. Pint of your finest, please.”

“Coming up.” The other man stepped away to pour the drink, and Isaac put his hand in his pocket.

“Don’t worry, mate. I’ve got a few owed to me and I can’t drink ’em all. You may as well have one.”

“Oh.” Isaac pulled his hand out and grasped the pint his brother had placed on the bar. “Thank you. Cheers.” He raised his glass in salute to Matthew then Gordon before turning to the room and looking for a seat. The pub wasn’t too busy and there were a couple of tables free. One of them was in the corner, next to the framed information and artifacts relating to William Mompesson—the vicar at the time of the plague—and the disease itself. He was halfway to the table when an unusual sight caught his eye—a person he didn’t recognise. In the daytime, the pub was often frequented by tourists, but most went home and left the evenings for the locals.

But it appeared this man was somewhere in between. Perhaps he was staying in the village—the pub itself had accommodation, and there were plenty of cottages and B&Bs around. Isaac raised his eyebrows as he stepped closer to the newcomer—he was damn attractive, too, right up his alley. Even though he was sitting down, he looked tall, was slim but athletic, with dark hair and fuzz on his face that would be called fashionable stubble. He couldn’t see any more without staring, so he figured he’d wait until he sat down, then indulge in some surreptitious glances across the room. Perhaps, if the other man seemed amenable, he’d go and introduce himself at some point.