Seri's Story

Seri had pulled himself fully up onto his perch when the fight started, and he had watched with a snarl. He'd seen it before, and was confident that Cass would come out on top, but it was a ritual that was starting to grate on him. Someone needed to deal with Arman.

"I hope you're not planning to play hero, Cass." Seri said, dropping down onto the warehouse floor. "You'd best be planning on scattering too." The werecat eyed her warily, trying to figure out what she was thinking.

After a moment, he shrugged, shaking his head and turning to stare out the door where Arman had fled. "I think we'll all be a lot better off if these outsiders find what they're looking for." he said, scowling. "Even if they need a little prompting."

“You’re leaving. I’m leaving. Everyone is leaving.” Cass told Lindsay sternly. “This is done for now.”

She swept the warehouse, picking up only the necessities. The place would be left in a state; anyone who’d visit would be able to tell it had residents not long ago. And the place stank of werewolves.

Playing the hero? She felt like she’d been doing that for a long time. Pretending to know what she was doing when really every day was just a blunder that didn’t end up in them starving to death. Play the part, pretend to know. Even now as she called for the split, she had no idea what she was doing. Arman needed to be taken care of. If she went to the authorities… or another pack… she feared for their own safety, of the judgement that would be stamped on them as rejects.

There was always the last resort.
To kill him herself.
But Cass was no murderer.

She considered Seri’s words as she collected. When done, she turned to him, her smile was genuine, full of warmth, and told no tales of finality. She was sure they’d see each other again.

“Don’t think that Arman would protect us if he was found. They’d think we were in on it. After all, it’s my fault… I’ve been harbouring them all for so long… We’d be in so much trouble. But where would we be if I’d have got help? You know they hate werewolves, we’re not really people to them, no matter what’s written down in the documents. I thought we were better off like this, we got along OK. But by doing that I’ve made myself the criminal, you lot... And now it’s too late.”

Cass considered sharing words of love, comfort… anything. But she couldn’t think of words good enough. So, instead, she just ducked her head, tucking what little she had under her arm, then said: “Time to go.”

And she exited, the smallest of The Runts in her wake. The transformations would come soon.
Much to her distaste: the wolf survived longer in the wilderness.

"Good luck, then." Seri said, nodding to Cass. He wasn't sure if he agreed with her, though. He hadn't been thinking of going to the authorities. He was sure there were plenty of other people who Arman had drawn the attention of.

After she left, he turned to the others there. "You lot, too." he smirked, "Keep your heads down."

With that, he deftly hooked a hand back onto the crate and clambered up towards the hole in the roof, disappearing out of it.

Soon after they’d started searching, Brendan was glad of their decision. This place was bad enough to deal with without heightened senses. His boots were soon caked in a layer of questionable dark sludge. Eventually, even his jokes of the strange objects they found littered about died off after they’d passed their first water-logged corpse.

They were trudging through hollowed out houses. Rows of dilapidated things with only a few signs to tell that they were once inhabited left. A peeling strip of wallpaper here, moulded armchair there. And Brendan was holding onto the strange feeling that they were being watched. If they were, his eyes weren't sharing any evidence. He couldn't help but muse with some sheepishness on how fitting ‘The Phantom Quarter’ was as the name of this awful place.

Watched they were, but not by any phantom. The rooftops - or in the case of some of the more decrepit buildings, wall-tops - above the pair of werewolves were playing host to a small figure, stalking alongside them. Seri had been following the pair for a while, since not long after they'd entered the slums. The raggedy-looking teen's footfalls were light as a feather. He was well practiced in evading even the heightened senses of wolves with the aid of the Phantom Quarter's somewhat ... pervasive odor.

But simply avoiding notice wasn't his intent today. He'd quickly pegged the pair as members of the nearby Bloodstone pack. The pack had been sniffing around the area for the last week or so, and it wasn't the first time he'd followed along after a pair. It was obvious from the conversations he'd overheard that they were looking for Arman.

And today, he'd resolved to give them a helping hand. As the two werewolves rounded a corner, Seri dropped down from the roof of the building on the end of the street, landing on the fire-escape with a loud enough bump to draw their attention.

"Hello, doggies." he called down, leaning onto the railing and flashing a grin at them.

Desmond had just been about to suggest they call it a day when the werecat landed somewhere up above them.

They had been at the search for a few hours, and not a one of the squatters they had come across claimed to know anything about any werewolves living out here. Maybe there were none.

"'ey up there, 'ave a minute?" he called up.

For someone to approach the two - apparently knowing full well that they were werewolves – suggested to Brendan that this figure on the railings was worth their time. No doubt the creature had been following them too. The somewhat impressed look in his eyes was unnoticeable by the squinting he was doing as he tried to see better.

“Just a few questions, ain’t gon’ hurt you.” As he finished his sentence, he came to a quick conclusion that this individual knew that. Or, they thought they could get away if things didn’t go in their favour.

"I'll keep my distance if it's all the same to you." Seri replied, though he did slip over the railing and descend a few flights to a more reasonable height to communicate from. He perched on the rails, letting his bare feet dangle down. For someone from the Phantom Quarter, the teenager was surprisingly clean. That, combined with his feral gold eyes, made it clear there was something more to him than just another squatter.

"Looking for something, hm?"

Brendan rearranged his standing position into something a little more relaxed, feet apart, thumbs looped into his belt. He leant back a small amount too for more comfortable viewing. He regarded this person; his appearance, his demeanor with eager interest.

“We were just takin’ a look ‘round here. Ain’t the nicest of dwellings, if you’ll pardon me. Was wonderin’ what kind o' folks made this place their home. You don’t seem the usual sort, anyway.” Brendan cocked his head some. “There more like you?”

Seri smirked. "No, actually. I'm fairly... unique." he replied, leaning forwards dangerously over the edge, hanging onto the railing. "So, what're these questions you've got?" he asked with mock curiosity. He knew why they were here. But they had to go through the motions.

"'av you 'ad any werewolf trouble out this way? Or anythin' out of the ordinary?" Desmond asked. "An' you sure you don't want to come down?" He was getting a crick in his neck from craning it to look up at Seri.

"Well, I have noticed an awful lot of you wandering around here lately," Seri teased, "Sniffing around, like you buried a bone somewhere but can't find the hole." He flashed another grin with a glint in his eye.

Brendan liked him. Unique he sure was.
This youth did not seem the clueless type, so he just decided to spit out the rest, the reason.

“Sure you’ve ‘eard of all the trouble happening down in Vargeras. Killin’s, maulin’s - plain nastiness. A lot of. Looks like werewolves. We’re tryna’ get to the bottom of, put a stop to it. Any things like that happenin’ ‘round here? Anythin’ you can tell us would be great.”

"There we are. And here I thought we were going to pretend I hadn't been following you lot around for the last week." Seri said, laughing. "I know what you're looking for. And I know exactly who you're looking for, too." He smiled wickedly, "But before I tell you anything, I need some assurances."

"Assurances?" Desmond asked up at him.

"That the fallout from bringing our resident psychopath down isn't going to cause any problems for me, or my pack." Seri replied. "His little killing spree has nothing to do with us. We want him gone just as much as you, before he gets this entire place burned to the ground by the church." There was venom in the teenager's words. Clearly, this was personal.

Psychopath. Killing spree. It sounded bad and promising at the same time.
There was something else Brendan sought to address first, though.

“A pack? A werewolf pack lives here?” he didn’t quite manage to tone down the pity that rang clear in his voice.

"Yeah, it does." Seri replied sharply, with an edge of defiant pride in his voice. For all his aloof attitude, the Runts were his family. They might not look like much compared to the Bloodstone Pack, but they were what he had.

"If your pack didn't 'ave anythin' to do wi' the recent attacks, then you don't 'ave anythin' to be afraid of. You 'ave our word," Desmond reassured Seri. "We just don't want more people gettin' 'hurt, or killed. Like that lad over in Lupaix. Maybe you can get us a meetin' wi' your pack leader?" he asked.

"I suppose I can do that." Seri replied, rolling his shoulders with a thoughtful expression, "His name is Arman. Long hair, beard, built big, but short. Or on a bad day, seven foot and ugly as a troll, with a weird hybrid face." He wrinkled his nose.

He didn't want to lead these guys to where Cass had gone to ground. He might have been willing to set them on Arman's trail, but he didn't fully trust them. "I'll bring my pack leader to you, not the other way around." he decided. "Wait near the old warehouse a few blocks that way, and I'll be back with her within a half hour." he pointed off down the road towards the abandoned warehouse that the Runts had called home until a week ago, "If you're lucky, we might even find him there, looking for trouble."

Brendan was finding it hard to believe their luck. This stranger had told them what they initially wanted to know and more. A trap? By the sounds of it, this pack that was living out here wanted rid of this psychopathic troublemaker, as would the Bloodtones. A common interest, a promise of more information, an opportunity.

The O’Callaghan brothers could handle themselves. He glanced sideways at Desmond then looked back to the werecat appreciatively. Worth a shot.

“We can do that.”

Lindsay sighed "Okay, just howl if you need help" she said to both Seri and Cass, and decided she too would leave, feeling her self ready to shift, she ran off, feeling her skin twitching, she ran faster into the woods. Disapearing out of sight.

Cass had hoped they weren’t easy to find. But this was Seri. Quick-witted, slithery, sly Seri. He looked well; she couldn’t help noticing with a flash of pride.

They’d been hiding out on the upper floors of a derelict apartment complex, sat in shadows, hunched in their human forms. The first few days hadn’t been so bad, but now the life seemed completely drained of Cass’s band. Her time was split cripplingly between scavenging and caring, and even with the help of Michel - who hadn’t lasted three days on his own and who had come to offer his help – there wasn’t enough food or affection to go around. Malnourishment had taken a hold of this group, even their complaints of being hungry and cold had begun to die off.

She’d been livid at first, devastated by betrayal, but she didn’t have the energy to protest for long. The pack that was poking around hadn’t passed unnoticed by her. And she was sure Arman was on her tail too.

Seri had convinced her, of course he had.

Desperation had her reconsidering everything.
Hand yourself in. Seek help. Hated but not hungry. Unloved but warm.
Leave them. Let nature take its course. You’ve ruined them.
Find him. Get him.
Kill yourself.
No, wait. Wait the full fortnight.
Bad decisions…

Cass couldn’t figure the way out. So she’d followed Seri to what could either be their salvation or doom, leaving Michel in charge.

It was the pack leader they’d asked to speak with but Cass couldn’t muster any of the expected qualities of such a figure as she approached the warehouse. She was ragged, dressed in something so big and dirty that it functioned well as a disgusting smock dress, with bare feet and skinny legs propping her up. She probably looked a lot younger than she was.

Cass shot Seri an uncertain look, wanting to siphon some of his vigour.

The abandoned warehouse was as much in disrepair as the rest of the phantom quarter. The front of the building was laid open by a sizable hole in the wall, and multiple holes riddled its roof. Inside, old shipping containers and crates were stacked around the place, but the majority of the cavernous space was empty and bare.

Desmond gingerly took a seat on one of the crates, uncertain if it would hold his weight. It creaked, but didn't seem in any danger of falling appart beneath him.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out.

It was a text from Snow, that Bowen had called him and Bastien in to follow up on a lead in Fontainebleau and that they wouldn't be able to swing by the Phantom Quarter.

"Looks like we're on our own," Desmond told Brendan.

A bit more muscle wouldn't have hurt if they where dealing with a whole pack out here, but they would need to make the best of the situation and try not to get themselves tangled up in a turf spat without the pack behind them.

“Hm” Brendan murmured as he thought, with everything that was going on, he thought best not to ask what had happened now which meant they’d be going it alone; there were other things to concentrate on at the moment. And it for sure wasn’t any vital news.

“What’s wrong? Scared o’ the ragtags?” He joked. He really couldn’t imagine a big, powerful pack living off the pickings in The Phantom Quarter. But still, most werewolf packs were dangerous. “We’re good if they all agreeable as the young’un. Like ‘im, spunky.”

Brendan’s gaze shifted across the warehouse. They’d been warned that another visitor might show up. One much less co-operative. Shadows began to dance on the concrete before the hole which was perhaps the main entrance to the warehouse. He tensed, waiting for a sign that whoever was approaching did so in a compliant way.

Cass stepped over the threshold. Picking out the two big figures, her advance slowed some.

Brendan blinked. Well, they really needn’t worry about being overpowered, not in these forms, at least. He regarded the werecat for a moment, was this really his pack leader who he’d brought? He was sure that if this woman was in more crude company, she’d have been subject to some jokes. As for Brendan, her state only gave him a surge of sorriness.

“Ma’am” he greeted her.

Cass responded only by stopping in her tracks and fixing the Bloodstone pack members with suspicious stares.

Seri crouched a short way forwards from Cass. He didn't say anything himself, casting a glance back at her as though waiting for a cue.

Cass wasn't remotely anything like what Desmond was expecting, and he couldn't quite conceal the raise of his brows at the state of her dress and physical condition.

He finally stepped forward and offered her a hand in greeting.

"'ey there. Me name's Desmond, an' this 'ere is me brother, Brendan," he said. "You must be the pack leader that your cat friend told us about? He said you could tell us about some stuff 'appenin' out 'ere?"

Desmond’s hand remained hanging in the air for a few seconds before Cass tentatively shook both his and his brother’s. It had been a while since she’d been involved in such polite gestures.

“Yes.” She said, making sure that she spoke loud and clear as to not make herself even more of a laughing stock. “I… I just need to know, that the information I am going to tell you will be kept between packs. Away from the authorities. And that, well, no one is going to be hurt. There are… children involved.”

Cass’s eyes flittered between their faces, making eye contact with each for a while. She was not looking forward to the judgments that she feared would be passed once they learnt the full story. Her awareness of Seri’s presence was a warm comfort, at least.

"No one except him." Seri interjected with a grimace.

"'ey now, we're not lookin' to get anyone in trouble, or to 'urt any kids," Desmond reassured Cass. "Why don't you 'ave a seat an' tell us what's goin' on out 'ere?"

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was dealing with a child, rather than a pack leader.

Cass shook her head at Seri’s comment. No trouble? They hadn’t heard yet. She did not sit.

Apart from the starvation, disease, and general nastiness that everyone ignores?

“This man. He found us, maybe, five years ago? I’m not sure. I don’t know where he came from. I don’t know anything about him. He brought us things we needed, he protected us. This wasn’t long after I was… changed.” Changed. Not turned. “I didn’t notice at first. It took- It took three, three or four for me to notice. To notice what he was doing.”

She paused for a moment then found herself looking at the floor next time she spoke. All the fight, the sureness and confidence, had fled. The pretense was gone. She was not one to be followed.

“He was biting them. On purpose.”

“Why?” Brendan was frowning. To be a werewolf was not much of a joy in Lutetia… unofficially sectioned off, looked down on. It was also an entirely different thing to bite and turn. All that torture. He could take a guess; no sane, stable person would do such a thing.

“He’s mad” she said, quieter now.

Brendan nodded.

"We're gonna need to talk wi' the rest of the pack, and I'll be straight with ya. Not all of them are gonna take kindly to you guys livin' out 'ere," Desmond told Cass. "But if you 'elp us find this man, it 'ill go a ways to 'elp the situation. Baron's an upstandin' fella. You be straight wi' him, an' 'e'll do right by you and your pack."

"Not like any of you bother to stick your noses this way until something starts to overflow into your territory." Seri jabbed, "I don't see why you would care that we're here."

Cass was also bitter and didn’t scorn Seri in the slightest.

“Won’t take kindly?” Her eyes hardened, some of the helplessness that had been shrouding her fading away. “Why’s that? You have your homes. This is ours. This is mine.”

“The person who has been bitin' people, killin' people, was also yours then, was he not?” Brendan said calmly, without disdain.

Cass scowled.

"'e's right. The pack is going to want assurances that somethin' like this won't 'appen again," Desmond explained. "Look, why don't we all meet over at The Den the-marrow night, an' we'll put this all to rest, alright?"

He offered his hand to her again, a gesture perhaps to reassure her.

She nodded curtly then shook their hands again before leaving.

A sudden terror clutched at her throat.
What if she’d done the wrong thing? If these people weren’t as trustworthy as they made out to be? Not being ‘straight with her’ at all? She’d uncovered them, they’d all be in danger. And if Arman found out… his return would be in vengeance.

“You’d better hope this works out, Seri” Cass was not all too pleased with him. But she was less pleased with herself.

Too late for that.

"Better than letting Arman tread all over us any longer," Seri retorted as they left. "I'd have given it a week, two weeks tops before he tore your throat out and the rest of us were left for dead, or pulled into his insane rampage ourselves on threat of going out the same way."

The werecat stuck his hands in the pockets of his ragged trousers and stared at the ground with a grimace. "Someone needs to put that psycho down." he hissed.

Hopefully tomorrow would go well. He didn't trust these Bloodstone either, but given a choice between them and Arman, who he knew was crazy? He'd take his chances with them.

Seri followed Cass into the bar with a suspicious eye to everyone and everything around them. The werecat was dressed just as - if not more - raggedly than she was, though he himself was as ever far cleaner than the majority of the denizens of the Phantom Quarter. Cats were, after all, hygenic creatures.

His golden eyes swept across the room's interior and landed on Baron. He kept silent, for the time being. He was uneasy, surrounded as they were - he liked to always know he had an escape route. But he had no such reassurances here, with the wolves outside. It was disconcerting.

Amongst the assembled pack members, Snow had a seat at the bar counter. He was nursing a glass of whiskey and watching Cass and Seri with contemplative but unthreatening eyes. As far as he was concerned, neither of them were an apparent danger, and so he simply watched and waited for them to speak. He'd heard only that they had information on the wolf attacks. Being busy with finding Sophia, he hadn't been keeping fully up to speed with the search there.

At one of the tables adjacent to Baron's, Nieve too was sat leaning casually back in her chair with her legs crossed. Her eyes were as wolfish as Baron's - but perhaps even more predatory. She regarded Cass with a small, almost imperceptible smirk. The woman looked weak, but perhaps that was to be expected for a makeshift pack from the Phantom Quarter.

Into The Den. Into the jungle.

Eyes everywhere; worse than the glances from outside. These stares were more informed.

The Phantom Quarter was far from rosy, but the smoke really got into her. A cough was already trying to escape but she cleared her throat to keep it at bay. Maybe she should’ve been grateful for the haze which was making it quite difficult to make out details with her already reasonably bad sight. There was a range to how she was being regarded; reproach, indifference, amusement. The men and women – the wolves – seemed like they were asserting their dominance in the situation.

There was no mistaking Baron. Leader of the pack.
Even Seri was subdued.

Cass’s head turned, a sweep of knotty hair and an evaluating expression. She didn’t like this. She didn’t trust this. But she was here by choice. So, she drew in a steadying smoky breath.

“What do you need to know?”

"Everything," Baron answered. "From the beginning."

He leaned back in his chair and propped one foot up against the seat of another chair at the table he was seated at. Calm. Relaxed. Un-threatened.

Cass’s lips twisted into a badly hidden scowl. She’d chosen her words carefully; need, not want. But she was in no position to deny him. His nonchalant behaviour did nothing but irritate her. She met Baron’s eyes with poise, anyway.

“My name is Cassandra. I’m the leader of the ‘pack’” she didn’t do so well at hiding her distaste of the term “in the Phantom Quarter. Not the nicest of places, I’m sure you know. We’re not there so much by choice… We’ve been there for a few years. And a couple of years back we gained a new member. Not like the others. We’re mainly young people. Children. Freshly turned. Outsiders.”

Her eyes flittered away some. “I think this is the person that led you to find us. His name is Arman. Good scavenger. He provided, protected. But a bad person. He… has wrong views about things. It all went too far. He wormed his way in by the time I realise- realised that he was turning people. I couldn’t shake him. Not completely.”

Baron studied her silently before he finally spoke again.

"You know his scent. Can you, or yours, track him?" he asked.

Seri wrinkled his nose. "He lurks down in the catacombs. Even he doesn't smell bad enough to be tracked down there."

Cass nodded curtly.

“We could try. But when you’re wallowing in so much nastiness there’s not much left unmasked.”

"We'll have to flush him out of the city," Baron concluded. "How many of yours are able enough for a hunt?"

“Four” Cass said, aware of how weak that made them sound. Her eyes narrowed.

Four ... and he could spare six of his own without risking leaving his territory undefended. It just might be enough Baron thought silently to himself...

"Then we'll join forces, and we'll hunt," he said.

Cass could almost see the golden hue of a wolf's eyes reflected intensely within Baron's own.

Outrunning them, as it turned out, was going to prove to be difficult.

The forest blurred past as Snow sprinted through the trees, sleek white form cutting through the foliage like a knife. He caught glimpses of other pack members to his rear; he was amongst the forerunners of the chase. Their quarry wasn't far ahead, by his reckoning. He could hear the branches breaking beneath the larger wolf's paws.

The arctic wolf's pure white coat stood out against the shadowy backdrop of the forest, far more visible in the glimmering moonlight than his darker packmates. A disadvantage in the early stages of a hunt, but now that the chase was upon them, it didn't matter. The yellow of his eyes gleamed with the thrill of it, and he let out his own howl.

____

A fair distance behind the pursuing wolves, another dark shape slipped swiftly through the shadows of the trees, with much lighter footfalls. Seri was following behind the hunt at a modest distance - slower than they were in a straight line dash, but not so slow as to be left entirely in their dust. An out-and-out chase wasn't his style. But he wanted to be there when they caught him. He wanted to see it done.

The werecat bounded through the woods like a moving shadow, only the gold of his eyes visible distinct from his pitch black fur.

Hubert wasn't the most agile of them, but his bulk helped him pick up speed in a straight path. He barreled through the forest like a freight train, the ground rumbling beneath his paws.

As a werewolf, he was particularly huge. Though more wolf than man, he could stand on his hind legs for brief amounts of time. There were still traces of the human there, but the first thing anyone could see was a giant beast, bulky with layers of both muscle and fat.

Ulrich, on the other hand, was wiry and swift. Though not small, he certainly didn't boast Hubert's or Baron's largeness. But he was precise. His reflexes were sharp. Though there were certain people there he wasn't exactly excited to see, the hunt thrilled him enough to forget it.