Playing Dead: Book One of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Epilogue

The fire roared in the great hearth in Benjamin Garrick's study. We had no real need for it of course, but I enjoyed watching the shadows flicker on the walls as the flames danced in the fireplace and they enjoyed humouring my whims.

Harper sat in Benjamin's armchair, watching me as I sat in the chair opposite, my legs flung over the arm as I read, one of our father's huge dusty tomes resting in my lap. Watching me read had become one of Harper's whims and it seemed to be one of the only times I saw him shrug off the anger and let the calm overwhelm him completely.

Garrick was sitting at Benjamin's desk, pouring over books and old yellowing manuscripts. Since the day of The Great Uprising he had done little else except bury his head in page after page. I had no idea what he was searching for but every now and then, his eyes widened and glinted in the firelight and he would make furious notes in the tatty leather-bound notebook that he kept with him at all times.

And I had humoured him. I had let him leaf through each book and document, I had let him make note after note and I had let him lose himself in his search.

But tonight, his time was up.

Closing the book and twisting my legs around, I stood up, placing the scruffy Dickens volume on the seat of the chair, and slowly, treading one foot in front of the other, like a cat stalking its prey, I approached the table, knowing that Harper's eyes were following me across the room, alert and wary.

Placing both hands on the edge of the desk, I bent down, staring at Garrick as he worked.

"What do you want, Megan?" he said, not stopping and not looking up at me as I surveyed him, making a small clicking noise with my tongue against my teeth.

"You know what I want," I said, smiling.

He sighed, irritated and threw his pen down on the desk, leaning back in his chair and glaring at me with that arrogant swagger blazing from his eyes. "Oh for goodness sake," he hissed. "Harper can't you occupy her for a while and get her out of my hair? I'm trying to work here."

Harper shrugged nonchalantly and smirked. "You can't bury your head in those books forever, brother. And besides, I have found her to be annoyingly persistent when she wants something."

I grinned and turned my attention back to Garrick, enjoying the way he visibly squirmed under my gaze. "You owe me, Garrick. After all, this deal of yours is what got me into this mess to start with so the least you can do is tell me what it is that you have that Brandon wants. I'm going to find out in the end, so why not give in now and tell me?"

His face twisted into a snarl and he smoothed his ink-stained hands over the shaved sides of his head. "You know, you used to intrigue me, now you irritate me."

"But I still intrigue you. And you're still going to tell me what I want to know."

He growled and stood up suddenly, the chair legs screeching on the floor as he angrily pushed it away. "Fine," he snapped. "You want to know, then I will show you. But don't blame me if what you find is not exactly to your liking."

I frowned but followed him from the room regardless, matching his pace with my own. As we trailed through the dimly lit corridors, with the cracked strip lights flickering and buzzing overhead, barely emanating enough light to illuminate the corners, I turned to see Harper following, his face set in a grim line and the lack of light making him look even more menacing than usual.

Garrick led us into his private quarters, a small sparsely furnished room with a couple of dog-eared posters of some non-descript rock band on the wall and a battered chintz-edged lampshade in the corner. On the other side was a door and he took a key from his pocket and unlocked it to reveal a narrow staircase leading down into pitch blackness.