The Lost: Book Two of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 28

The lights reflected off the curved walls of Blackwall Tunnel, illuminating everything in stark amber and making me grip the edge of the passenger seat. Amber only reminded me of Brandon and I didn't want to think of him, because I knew he was out there somewhere, the great Vánagandr stalking the streets of North London, his venomous eyes forever searching the darkest of corners for any traces of vampire. For any trace of me and Lucius.

I wondered how long it would take the Varúlfur to realise the vampires were on the move, migrating south of the river, desperately seeking refuge in Greenwich and beyond, anywhere as long as it was away from the slaughter that had plagued the north of the city. Would we ever be able to return to the dark, dismal backstreets of Whitechapel? I had felt a connection with those dangerous alleyways and towpaths. I'd learned to feel calmer as soon as the scent of old blood engulfed me, evoking a strange sense of belonging that I had never felt before, even in my human life. Forever the care home orphan with nothing to her name until Brandon had come along, I'd never felt like I really belonged anywhere. Now I just felt displaced all over again, just as the rest of the vampires were displaced, ripped and torn from their homes, dragged kicking and screaming from their lives in the shadows and thrown out into the open and forced to scurry away, desperately looking for their next hiding place.

And that's what we were doing now; scurrying through the tunnel like the rats we were, only not on foot and not all together.

Harper had decided we would travel separately, travelling in Garrick's small fleet of beat-up cars and any other vehicle we could get out hands on, not that it was easy to find enough to transport close to one hundred and twenty vampires across the river. There had been close to six hundred before the Cleansing had begun and the losses weighed heavily on each and every one of us left, but the prospect of trying to get the survivors to temporary safety in Greenwich seemed far more burdensome. Through his connections, Garrick had been able to acquire some small trucks and it was these we used to pack in survivors like we were smuggling immigrants across the border, leaving at different times so not to attract attention to our strange nocturnal convoy.

Edward's crew and Blaine had been in charge of transporting the survivors, which left Harper, Garrick, Lucius and me. Much to my dismay, Harper had insisted that Lucius go with Garrick and I go with him, asserting that the two of us needed to be apart on the journey just in case of any untoward eventualities that meant we might be captured together. Even though I had to begrudgingly admit he was right, the thought of letting Lucius out of my sight and without my protection sent spasms of panic rippling through the base of my stomach.

Ever since we had left the Mills and I had shot Lucius one last look as we drove away, I couldn't help but feel that deathly touch of apprehension that made the hair on the back of my neck prickle uncomfortably. As soon as the car cleared the end of the tunnel and I looked up to see the great expanse of iron sky above, I exhaled, hearing my breath whistle shakily over my lips and I felt Harper's eyes flicker briefly from the road to me and then back again. I knew that when he was driving, not only was he focusing on the route ahead, but he was also scanning the streets through which we passed, scrutinising each face, always on alert for signs of our enemy. I, on the other hand, couldn't stop my mind from working overtime, flitting from one troubled thought to the next, let alone try to concentrate on keeping an eye out for Varúlfur scouts.

"Did I ever tell you that my father wanted me to be a preacher?" Harper's voice was uncharacteristically soft, just loud enough to hear over the low rumble of the engine but it still made me flinch, having expected the journey to continue in stilted tense silence.

I looked at him questioningly.

He hesitated before he continued, clearing his throat as if suddenly nervous, a small hint of blush tingeing his cheeks. "I mean my real father, not Benjamin."