“Around the six foot mark,” Sorley snapped at Baxter. He apologised when she snapped straight back at him that she was doing the best she could.
“I’m sorry. I just need this arsehole removed. Preferably yesterday.” He tapped his thigh with anxious fingers. “Just in case, have you got photo ID of a mage called Kippen…Hang on. Marlowe, what’s Kippen’s surname?”
Marlowe’s brow creased for a moment before he said, “Wade.”
“Did you hear that? Yeah, good. Whatever you have on him too. Of course I’ll wait.” His fingers began their tapping again, and he was aware he had his eyes closed. He tried to recall the night he was attacked, but the scenes he’d thought fixed forever in his mind were losing their sharp edges. He still recalled the voice, or was it a feeling? The sultry promise of feeding with the unspoken undercurrent of a hard fuck in a dark corner that had made his dick pulse with urgent need and his fangs tingle. But why couldn’t he be sure of what the man had looked like?
“Sorley?” He snapped back to the present and gave Baxter his attention. “I’m here.”
“Sending you a pic of Wade. There’s a note on his file that he’s experienced with illusion and is liable to change his appearance to blend in however he likes. The Council had been debating whether we should bring him on board, but now he’s got a big question mark against his name.”
“Possibly unfairly,” Sorley said, trying to think rationally. “If he’s being coerced, we can hardly hold it against him.”I totallywillhold it against him.
“Fair schmair,” came the sharp retort. “If he can’t defend himself well enough not to get into this position, he’s flawed. You know the rules, mate.”
He shot a look at Edwin as his friend’s eyes darted downwards. “That the photo of Kippen?”
Edwin nodded. “James? Care to confirm for us?”
James, his shoulders tense, leaned over the laptop again. “That’s definitely not the man I saw,” he said firmly.
“Bugger,” Gethin said. “Doesn’t mean he’s not under suspicion. We should still assume he could be dangerous, but at least we’re fairly sure it’s Cormack we’re after.” He stood closer to Sorley and spoke into his phone. “Hey, Baxter. How’s the search going for sightings of Connor Cormack? Do you want to get back to us?”
Baxter’s usually cheerful London accent was strained. “I’ve pulled in three off duty staff to trawl through everything we’ve got and apply the new parameters. You’re wasting your phone bill holding on. That’s all I’m saying.”
Sorley muttered a brief goodbye and hung up. “Fuck’s sake, I am so done with waiting!”
“We all are.” Edwin snapped his laptop shut. “I’ll go down to the basement and work from there. It’s quieter.” He eyed James. “You want to help? You’re the only one who has almost definitely seen Cormack, and you might recognise something in the footage that I wouldn’t. You got a shock from the shitty photo Baxter sent through so I reckon your powers of observation are sound.”
James’s eyes widened. Sorley nudged Gethin to see his reaction to the lad’s emotional response. Gethin squeezed his hand briefly.Wait.
“It was his posture in the photo,” James offered. “I don’t know, I just…it feels like it’s him.” He shrugged. “Sorry, that’s pathetic.”
Edwin looked cautious but he chanced a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Not pathetic,” he contradicted him. “Insightful. So, you want to help?”
James’s swallow was loud, but after a moment he said, “Okay.” Sorley watched him follow Edwin out of the room. The door to the basement clicked shut a few moments after that. Marlowe exhaled loudly, then headed to the kitchen, muttering about more tea, and research.
The evening trickled by. Sorley, unable to blow off steam on his gym equipment and feeling too unsettled to suggest to Gethin they fuck, was a caged tiger, pacing the carpet until Alec told him tersely to pace in the hall instead.
“You are making my eyes ache,” the small vampire grumbled, “which I know should not be possible, but here we are. I am as impatient as you, mon ami, but you need some new hobbies.”
Sorley bared his teeth half-heartedly but couldn’t muster the emotional energy to be cross with Alec. He was dismayed by their lack of progress, and becoming increasingly concerned they wouldn’t be able to wipe James’s memory sufficiently for him to forget all about them. Which made him a risk, and put him at risk, which in turn meant more Council involvement, time, and effort from supes who were already busy. Would James ever be safe if he knew about vampires and wolves? Could he be trusted to heed their warnings about keeping his mouth shut? Would he think it okay to confide in a family member, lover…?
“Gethin!” He shot back into the lounge. “Someone must have missed James by now. Surely he’s been reported missing? This is another mess we need to clean up.”
Gethin looked up from his own laptop with a benign smile. “What do you think I’m doing, cariad? I’ve been putting out feelers everywhere. I’m not sitting here ignoring you when I can feel how out of sorts you are right now.” He gestured to his lap. “Join me?”
“Mon Dieu, I am never going to be free of your aggressive displays of affection, am I?” Alec chuckled and fished in his pocket for some earphones. “Do your worst, you crazy, horny men. I will keep my eyes closed.”
Gethin echoed Alec’s chuckle. “Why do you speak French, Alec? I’ve been meaning to ask.” He arranged Sorley across his lap sideways, one hand possessively snaking around to cinch his waist. Sorley leaned into his broad chest and waited for Alec to explain.
Alec looked mildly discomforted, as was usual when all eyes were on him. Finally he shrugged. “French was widely spoken in England at the time I was born. Or Anglo-Norman as it is now referred to as. Along with Middle English, or what you would know as what Chaucer wrote, and Latin, it was simply the way of my world back then. I have also spent long periods in France since my turning, and I am…at ease with the language and its feel on my tongue. Forgive me if I lapse. I do not mean to.”
Sorley smiled at him from his perch. “And of course, as Gethin will learn, we spend a lot of time keeping up with language trends, because nothing gives you away faster as an immortal than coming out with a phrase that was last popular over a century ago.”
Gethin’s soft huff of laughter tickled his neck. “Like ‘clodpate’, for example?”
“Oh hush, I was aerated at the time.”
