THE BEDROOM AT the back of the house was a tiny, strange wood-panelled room. On the bed lay Zac. Only the top part of his body was visible under the thin white sheet, but he seemed to be naked.
Iris had met Zac before. He was a young black American guy, and Alfie had explained more than once that he was Leon’s cub, bitten by Leon. And he had a cub of his own, Pearl.
‘You’re Vix,’ said Zac, his voice sounding laboured and low. ‘What do you want?’
Iris spoke carefully. ‘I know you’re a good guy, Zac. I know you know it doesn’t have to be you versus us. Alfie understood that. I think you do too.’
Behind Iris, Blake said, ‘That’s one hell of a chest wound.’
Iris looked at Zac’s chest. The red furrow on his chest was visible through the sheet, not so big, but it was surrounded by nasty blistering.
‘Yeah,’ Zac said, looking at Blake.
‘Is that why your girlfriend asked if we were doctors?’
‘My girlfriend is taking care of me just fine, thank you.’
Iris was looking at Blake now, resting in the door-frame. He reached under his overcoat into the top pocket of his white coat and pulled out his familiar packet of tobacco and rolling papers. He began to roll a cigarette. ‘That blistering, I can see it through the sheet – it’s silver isn’t it? You were stabbed by a silver, blade, mate. You’re a lyc – you ought to be dead. How come she saved you? Could it be anything to do with that beauty?’ Blake pointed at a large white machine next to the bed.
Pearl said, ‘Yeah. So what if it is? Nothing to do with you two.’
Blake had the cigarette rolled and he flipped it into his mouth. He spoke with it stuck to his bottom lip. ‘I’m just interested. If you’ve done what I think you’ve done, well, wow, you’re the smartest motherfucker in this room and I want you on my team.’
‘Really?’ said Pearl sharply.
Blake pulled a scrappy book of matches from his pocket, bent the cover back and struck the entire thing against the door frame. The whole row of cardboard matches lit up, a little fireball in his hand. It danced orangey magic over his face as he drew it in and jabbed the end of his roll-up into it.
Iris shook her head at this not unfamiliar piece of showmanship. ‘What is she meant to have done?’
‘She cleaned his blood. Got all the silver out. That right, doll?’
Pearl nodded.
‘It’s a type of cancer treatment, right? Blood filtering or something. Amazing.’ Blake was talking to Iris now. ‘To kill a lyc you need to get silver in a wound that would be fatal on a human. She took the silver out of his blood and the stab wound didn’t kill him. Never seen anything like it. Never read . . . What beats me is where you got that machine.’
Pearl shrugged, tugging at her grubby lilac utility dress. ‘I’m a nurse – was a nurse. I knew what favours to call in.’
‘Ha!’ Blake said in an explosive exhalation of smoky breath. ‘Knew what dicks to suck more like.’
‘Actually, I didn’t have to do that. I have friends. Not that I wouldn’t have. To save Zacky’s life.’
‘Either way, sweetheart, it’s a stroke of fucking genius.’ Blake reached into his pocket and pulled out a pen and a notebook, still smoking his roll-up by moving it around his mouth. ‘So how did you keep him alive while you were getting the machine?’
Pearl cocked her head. She was looking more confident by the minute. ‘I gave him some basic meds,’ she said. ‘It seemed like a lycan body treated silver as a cross between an antigen and a virus. I gave him a big dose of anti–viral drugs and some anti-allergens. Talked the nearest chemist into it.’
‘Fuck. OK, baby, you have got a job when we get this mess sorted, which, er, may never happen. Actually, we should tell you about that. Big old coup’s coming. Humans versus lycans. I reckon you too can look forward to being on the winning side though, baby.’