Only that it originated in Somerset as far as we can tell. The first victim was an older shifter. Nobody realised how serious it was until the others around him started to get ill also.
I thought of Betsy, Tom and Julia, along with all of the other shifters inside, just feet away – Staines’ comment that they were going into shutdown. What’s going to happen to the Pack?
Why do you care? You left, remember? He didn’t sound annoyed, which worried me more than anything. He just sounded as if he’d had enough. I wished now that I was back with him; the urge to give him a hug was overwhelming. Perhaps it would be worth wangling my way back inside. I didn’t have long before I had to get back to the mages, but under these circumstances they might be a bit understanding. Not that understanding and compassion was something I had yet noticed was a trait of any of the magic wielders, but you never knew.
Are you sure it just affects shifters?
What – are you worried about yourself now? There was a slight tinge of irritation flitting back into his Voice now, which gladdened me immensely. Besides, I thought you were in a rush to go off and play student with the mages.
It might be dangerous letting me out on the street, Corrigan, I could be a carrier. Maybe I should stay with you. Uh, I mean, with the Brethren.
We know that humans aren’t affected. In fact, no species other than some animal ones and shifters are affected by the red fever. We’re not entirely stupid, kitten, we did check.
I doubted very much that any of the Brethren had thought to check whether that included dragons, but wisely didn’t say anything. Then I paused suddenly in mid thought.
What did you call it?
Mackenzie, I’ve got things to do. There are plans that need to be put into place in case the disease spreads further.
Corrigan, this is important. What did you call it?
The red fever. The symptoms start off with just a temperature and headache. A bit like the flu, I suppose. But a day or two in the afflicted shifter’s skin starts to flush red. If they shift, then their eyeballs turn red also. It’s really all downhill from there. One of our doctors has come up with some kind of blood test that detects whether someone has it or not. We were all tested this morning, before you were brought in. Nine of us are already infected. She expects that the first symptoms will start appearing in the next few hours.
My mind was suddenly whirling. I tried to think and focus.
Mackenzie?
Uh, Corrigan, I’ve got to go.
I’d expect nothing less. Look after yourself, kitten.
His Voice left with his final words ringing in my head with an air of depressing finality about them. I pushed them out of my thoughts and pulled myself up off the cold step. I needed to get to Scotland and time was of the essence.
With no money, and no identification, flying was out of the question. The train or the bus would take too long. What I really needed was Solus, but clearly he was playing hard to get. I tried calling out his name, just in case he’d now decide to hear me, but my voice just bounced around the empty street. This was clearly not a very efficient way of getting in touch with him. I thought about the troll in the weapons shop. I didn’t think I could trust that creature as far as I could throw him – and that wouldn’t be far given how squat and heavy looking he’d been. But Solus hadn’t paid for the knives – and I certainly hadn’t paid for the knives – and the troll had certainly seemed to know the Fae already. So, even though it seemed like a long shot, it was just possible that he would have a way of contacting Solus, if only to bill him.
With sudden purpose, I took off. I figured I was at least five miles away from the shadowy little alleyway where the troll’s shop had been and I didn’t know this city at all. My weak sense of direction would probably not hold up well amongst the maze of concrete buildings. But I didn’t have to actually go there in person. All I needed was a computer.
There were no shops – and certainly no internet cafes – anywhere nearby. As I ran, I listened for the buzz of people and traffic. The streets were fairly quiet but there was a distant hum coming from over to my right hand side. As soon as I could, I turned off into that direction.
Before too long, I passed a homeless guy sitting at the side of the road with a brown paper bag covering whatever the tipple of the day was. I slowed down and bent over to talk to him.
“Hey, where’s the nearest internet café?”
He gazed up at me with unfocused eyes. “That’s a hell of a fight you’ve been in, sweetheart,” he slurred.
“I’m not your sweetheart,” I snapped. “Internet café? Where can I found one?”
He pursed his lips and then jerked his head up to the right. “Over there. On Bewer Street.”
I threw out a quick thanks, dropping the last of my crumpled up money from Alex into his hand, and sprinted off. He shouted something after me, but his words were lost in the wind. I dodged a few rubbish bins and skirted down a small side street, my eyes scanning the area. There was a graffiti laden street sign on the other side of the road so I jogged over and tried to make out the words underneath the black spray paint. Bewer Street. Outstanding. I glanced up and down, trying to work out which direction to take. There appeared to be a cluster of shops up ahead so I ran off in that direction, the cold wind whipping at my face.
I slowed when I started to near the shops. I passed a liquor store and a 24 hour convenience shop that clearly wasn’t very convenient nor was it 24 hours because it was all shut up. The next shop front along was an internet café. I tried the door but it was locked. Cursing, I jiggled the doorknob pointlessly, but the café wasn’t going to open miraculously just because I wanted it to. I peered inside the grimy windows. There were several desktop monitors dotted around. I couldn’t make out anyone inside.
Jogging around the back, I looked for a way in. There was a back door with a plate of glass covered with wire mesh set into it. I cast around for somewhere a key might be hiding, turning over a few stones that were lying around and kicking over a rubbish can that was filled to the brim with sour smelling rotting waste. Nothing. Fuck it. I picked up one of the stones and threw it at the door but it bounced harmlessly off. The shop might look like it was falling apart but getting through the wire mesh was going to take more time than I really had to spare. I’d missed the lockpicking part of my education but figured it really couldn’t be that hard. If I could just get hold of a credit card or a bobby pin then I could try that. Looking down at the upturned bin, I wrinkled my nose in disgust. There was nothing else for it, however.
I knelt down and began rummaging through, wondering what diseases I’d be picking up myself by doing this. There were remnants of old mouldy bits of bread, plastic wrappings and bits of cardboard. Everything I touched seemed to have some horribly foul gloopy stuff covering it. Eventually I came across a scrunched up pile of papers that seemed to be photocopies of letters addressed to the local council complaining about the poor rubbish collection procedures. Their complaint was my gain in more ways than one, however, because they were bound together with a paper clip. Wiping the gloop off the little piece of metal first by swiping it over my jeans, I straightened it out and then crouched down beside the lock to try my luck. I stuck the clip inside the rusty lock wondering what the hell I was doing. With my free hand, I gripped the door knob, intending to twist it as I fiddled around trying to catch the lock. Without warning though, the knob turned and I was falling headlong through onto the back porch.
“Fucking hell!” I swore aloud. The bloody door hadn’t been locked at all in the first place.
Scowling in irritation, I picked myself up carefully. Either the café owner was careless or someone was still inside, so I quietly made my way through to the front, keeping my senses alert in case I was discovered. It appeared, however, that they were simply just not as careful about security as they should have been as the whole place was silent. Briefly sending up a prayer of thanks to the god of fortuitous breaking and entering, who definitely seemed to have been on my side of late, I jogged over to one of the computers and turned it on. As it slowly creaked its way into life, my gaze fell on the small bar at the side. There were shelves filled with dubious looking plastic wrapped cakes and a small display fridge. And there was a state of the art coffee machine with a green light blinking next to it. Sighing in happiness, I jumped over and found myself a mug, flicking on the machine to pour a shot of sticky black caffeine goodness, then I made my way back to the computer, gulping thankfully as I went.
Once the machine was turned on, I made my way onto the internet and typed in the address in the search bar that would take me to the Othernet gateway. Before too long, the familiar glow of the otherworld’s search engine blinked at me. I typed in troll, weapons and London, immediately coming up with a list of possible sites. I clicked on the first one and the unsmiling face of the troll stared out at me. Perfect.
There was a tab detailing contact information so I clicked on that and ended up with various bits of information, including a phone number. Memorising it quickly, I moved over to the café’s front desk and picked up the phone there, dialing the number. It rang several times before a familiarly gruff voice answered.
“What?”
“You might want to work on your customer service there,” I commented.
The troll hung up. Fuck. I had to stop pissing people off with my big mouth. I rang it again. Again the troll answered.
“What?”
“I’m sorry about before. I’m calling because I was in your shop yesterday. Maybe you remember? I was my friend and we picked up a couple of daggers.”
“No refunds,” growled the shop owner.
“I don’t want a refund,” I said hastily, before I annoyed him any further. “I just need to check that you have the right details for payment.”
“Lord Sol Apollinarus. Care of the Ritz Carlton, same as always.”
Yahtzee. Although ‘Lord’ again? Solus clearly was more important than I’d given him credit for. Despite that, it was a great start. I doubted that he checked into the hotel under ‘Lord Sol Apollinarus’ though.