anyway? They’re dead! Alexa’s dead and neither you nor I nor that amulet is ever going to bring her back. I wasn’t there to help her! I wasn’t there to stop Caliban.’
‘You are of my blood, Trey Laporte. You are—’
Trey shook his head. ‘I’m not listening to you! You’re not real. NONE OF THIS IS REAL! IT’S ALL JUST ANOTHER TRICK!’
‘You don’t have to listen to me, lycanthrope. You need to listen to yourself.’
Trey watched as the old man’s face changed, his features becoming smoother and less wrinkled. His long chin became squarer and stronger and his eyes, as they changed from grey to brown, took on an altogether different look. The flames still consumed the face, but Trey recognized his father immediately.
Daniel Laporte never spoke. He looked down at his son, his eyes full of sadness as if he were sharing the pain that his child was going through. But there was something else in the look he gave Trey: there was hope. As if sensing the boy had picked up on this, he smiled and nodded. But even the appearance of his father could not lift Trey out of the despair he felt, and as he watched, his father began to fade. Trey tried to move only to find he was cemented in place. He called out to his dad, but to no avail. Daniel Laporte disappeared and was replaced by a darkness that fell upon Trey and carried him away with it. Just before it did, the thought occurred to him that this blackness was not unlike death. He might even be dead. And he realized that he didn’t care any longer.
15
With forty minutes to go until the start of the match, the streets around Stamford Bridge football ground were packed with the supporters of both sides, all clad in their team’s colours, jostling and pressing up against each other as they made their way towards the stadium under the watchful eye of the police. The air was thick with the smells of fast food coming from the numerous mobile cabins lining the way, and the bright sunshine ensured that a festival-like atmosphere was beginning to develop, despite the fierce rivalry between the two teams’ supporters. It was a London derby: Chelsea, the home side, were taking on north London opposition Arsenal, and the match was a sell-out. A high police presence was everywhere, and as the fans got nearer to the stadium they were segregated by the uniformed officers and funnelled into the ground separately to avoid the possibility of any trouble.
Loud and raucous songs rang out from various factions as they caught sight of a rival element, and these were answered with chants from the opposition, decrying the other team and its players. A general feeling of suppressed menace was in the air, but there was no sign that this might spill over into violence.
Robert Holt and his young son, Jake, were waiting in the queue at a burger van. The father kept a hand on the boy’s shoulder to ensure that the youngster couldn’t get separated from him. The crowds were bigger than they’d experienced during their previous two trips to the football, but Jake had recently fallen in love with the game, and Robert promised he’d get them tickets for the weekend of the boy’s birthday.
Robert had just put his order in for their cheeseburgers when he heard a loud roaring sound away to his right. He winced with the pain the noise created inside his ears, and he glanced down to see that Jake had clamped his hands against the side of his head to muffle the worst of the racket.
It was like the sound of a huge jet engine – a wall of noise that shook everything around it. He glanced about him and saw that other people were equally disturbed by the din, their faces screwed up in discomfort as they sought the source of the noise. Robert pulled his son towards him, bending forwards so that he could nod at the boy, silently asking if he was OK.
‘IT’S VERY LOUD!’ Jake shouted back at his father. ‘WHAT IS IT?’
Robert gave a shrug and shook his head. He frowned, watching as his
‘You are of my blood, Trey Laporte. You are—’
Trey shook his head. ‘I’m not listening to you! You’re not real. NONE OF THIS IS REAL! IT’S ALL JUST ANOTHER TRICK!’
‘You don’t have to listen to me, lycanthrope. You need to listen to yourself.’
Trey watched as the old man’s face changed, his features becoming smoother and less wrinkled. His long chin became squarer and stronger and his eyes, as they changed from grey to brown, took on an altogether different look. The flames still consumed the face, but Trey recognized his father immediately.
Daniel Laporte never spoke. He looked down at his son, his eyes full of sadness as if he were sharing the pain that his child was going through. But there was something else in the look he gave Trey: there was hope. As if sensing the boy had picked up on this, he smiled and nodded. But even the appearance of his father could not lift Trey out of the despair he felt, and as he watched, his father began to fade. Trey tried to move only to find he was cemented in place. He called out to his dad, but to no avail. Daniel Laporte disappeared and was replaced by a darkness that fell upon Trey and carried him away with it. Just before it did, the thought occurred to him that this blackness was not unlike death. He might even be dead. And he realized that he didn’t care any longer.
15
With forty minutes to go until the start of the match, the streets around Stamford Bridge football ground were packed with the supporters of both sides, all clad in their team’s colours, jostling and pressing up against each other as they made their way towards the stadium under the watchful eye of the police. The air was thick with the smells of fast food coming from the numerous mobile cabins lining the way, and the bright sunshine ensured that a festival-like atmosphere was beginning to develop, despite the fierce rivalry between the two teams’ supporters. It was a London derby: Chelsea, the home side, were taking on north London opposition Arsenal, and the match was a sell-out. A high police presence was everywhere, and as the fans got nearer to the stadium they were segregated by the uniformed officers and funnelled into the ground separately to avoid the possibility of any trouble.
Loud and raucous songs rang out from various factions as they caught sight of a rival element, and these were answered with chants from the opposition, decrying the other team and its players. A general feeling of suppressed menace was in the air, but there was no sign that this might spill over into violence.
Robert Holt and his young son, Jake, were waiting in the queue at a burger van. The father kept a hand on the boy’s shoulder to ensure that the youngster couldn’t get separated from him. The crowds were bigger than they’d experienced during their previous two trips to the football, but Jake had recently fallen in love with the game, and Robert promised he’d get them tickets for the weekend of the boy’s birthday.
Robert had just put his order in for their cheeseburgers when he heard a loud roaring sound away to his right. He winced with the pain the noise created inside his ears, and he glanced down to see that Jake had clamped his hands against the side of his head to muffle the worst of the racket.
It was like the sound of a huge jet engine – a wall of noise that shook everything around it. He glanced about him and saw that other people were equally disturbed by the din, their faces screwed up in discomfort as they sought the source of the noise. Robert pulled his son towards him, bending forwards so that he could nod at the boy, silently asking if he was OK.
‘IT’S VERY LOUD!’ Jake shouted back at his father. ‘WHAT IS IT?’
Robert gave a shrug and shook his head. He frowned, watching as his
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