The Lost: Book Two of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 3

"God, you really are insane, aren't you?" he said, his lips curling away from his teeth in a disgusted snarl. "You're spending too much time listening to those whispering ghosts of yours."

"It's true," I insisted, wrapping my arms around myself as if tortured by the cold. "I saw her."

"And if you really had seen her you would know she was not capable of such things!" he snapped, eyes blazing hot fury. "Jenny was the sweetest, kindest girl. She didn't know what it was to hate, even after the way Benjamin treated her, even after he rejected her and made it be known she wasn't one of us; she still didn't have the capacity to hate him or anyone for that matter. Now I don't know what you saw, but I'm telling you now that it was not her."

"It was her, I saw her face. Lucius showed me...."

"Oh Lucius be damned!" Harper sneered. "How do you even know what he shows you is real? We don't know anything about that child and here you are believing the lies he puts in your head." He stepped forward and pressed a finger up against my temple. "Whatever he made you see, forget it. Jenny is no more a threat to you than she is to me."

I pulled away, glancing down the street as the wind whipped up the rubbish in the gutter and danced it along the kerb. He was never going to believe me. He was never going to believe she was anything but an innocent in a world in which she didn't belong.

"Megan, please," he sighed, reaching out and tucking a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. "Lucius has....incredible powers, it's true. He showed me enough for me to never want to go near him again, but we don't know enough about him yet."

"But Garrick says Lucius is one of The Lost, that he has the power to open the gates of the Underworld?"

"So say the legends. And all the signs point to Lucius being what Garrick says he is. But does that mean what Lucius is showing you is the truth? Like I said, we know nothing about the boy. Until we do know, let's not place too much credence on the devilish images he implants in our heads. He could be a demon, nothing more."

"A terrifying one with the smile of a saint."

"All the best demons are just like that. The make people believe they are angels, when really underneath, lurks the beast," he smiled then, the type of smile he used to do when we first met, full of confidence and smouldering arrogance. "Talking of which, can you please stop hunting on your own? It makes me nervous and I don't like feeling nervous."

I grinned and scratched my nails across his beard. "Oh you're just afraid that you're missing out on the action. Quite the voyeur, aren't we?"

His eyes narrowed but his hands gripped my waist, tugging me against him. I inhaled deeply, breathing in the smell of his leather jacket and the musky scent of his skin. "And why not?" he drawled. "Watching you is quite something. Certainly puts a smile on my face."

The sirens were shrieking now. Screaming through the night air as the engines approached, navigating the narrow city back streets.

"We should go," Harper said, almost reluctantly. "As much as I enjoy the mayhem you create, let's not attract too much attention."

"Didn't have you down as the shy type," I laughed, tugging sharply on his hair and nipping at his bottom lip with my teeth.

"Very funny, angel," he winced but I felt his hardness press against my stomach nonetheless. "Come on, let's get back before you start the next Great Fire of London."

He began to walk away and I looked back down the road, noting the hungry glow of the fire emanating above the buildings and the blue lights of the emergency services lighting up the sky.