I hadn't expected Harper to return that night.

I had assumed that he would go to ground, to do what he was best at and run away, hiding out in one of his secret places, although who knew how many of them had been discovered by the Varúlfur in their hunt for the assassin who had betrayed them.

Instead, he had returned shortly before sunrise, a faint blush highlighting his cheeks and a guarded look haunting his eyes. Curled up in Benjamin's armchair, having ousted and despatched Lucius to bed some time before, I sat staring morosely into the flaming hearth, mulling over Garrick's words. The ghosts whispered all around me, but I dug my fingers into the arms of the chair and grit my teeth, desperately trying to keep them at bay by concentrating on what I had learned about Harper.

I could not judge him. How could I? The moral high ground beneath my feet was brittle enough as it was, one foot out of place and it was likely to shatter and send me plummeting. Harper insisted that he had loved Jenny, just as I would have sworn in a court of law with my hand firmly gripping the Bible that I had loved Brandon. And yet we had both fallen, both stepped willingly into the abyss, both courted temptation and let everything else be damned.

When Harper strolled back into the room and glanced in my direction, I wondered what he saw. I wondered whether every time he had crept into the basement and watched me crawling in the dirt, he had seen himself lying there. I wondered whether every cruel touch, every harsh word and every cold stare had been fuelled not only be revenge, but by looking into my face and seeing his own staring right back at him.

When it comes to the crunch, you and I are just the same, Megan.

The strange thing was that although a part of me still hated him for transferring his guilt onto me, somehow I understood him a little more now, as if I had burrowed under his skin like some kind of alien parasite and now saw through the eyes of my host. Everything seemed clearer, like switching on the light in a darkened cellar and realising that the only thing you had to be frightened of was yourself and your own fears. I despised him for inflicting pain on me in a bid to cleanse himself of the shame, but I could not condemn him for betraying Jenny because deep down I was no better. The question was, just who was this mysterious woman who had prompted him to knock Jenny off her shiny pedestal? When he had deserted his family for the woman he loved, when he had risked so much already, why would he jeopardise the most precious thing in his life just for some dirty, illicit bunk-up? Had he felt like me? Trapped? Suffocated? Weakened by the touch of another?

Garrick was at his desk, trawling through books as usual, furiously scribbling notes in his little tatty leather-bound journal and he looked up, his face tight and pinched when he saw Harper enter the room and head straight for me. Maybe he was expecting a storm to erupt after his little revelation or maybe for Harper to continue with his tirade about how I had drifted into Feeder territory. But as Harper seated himself in the chair opposite, neither of us spoke. In fact, I felt strangely calmed by his presence, in complete contrast to how he often made me feel on edge. I offered a small smile as he sat down and his brow furrowed in response, clearly surprised at my tentative welcome.

"How are you feeling?" he broached and it was my turn to be surprised. I shifted in the armchair, pulling my knees up to my chest as I watched him warily. I could detect the faint odour of blood on his breath and the scent of the kill on his clothes.

"Fine," I replied quickly; too quickly I realised when his eyes narrowed, scanning my face, searching beyond the lie that fell too hastily from my lips. My shoulders sagged as I relented under his stare. "Exhausted," I admitted. "Drained."

He sighed, turning his eyes towards the fireplace and rubbing his palm over his rough beard in solemn contemplation. "We'll find a way," he said, his voice barely above a gruff whisper. "There must be a way for you to bear this without resorting to .... extreme measures."

I could tell that he was choosing his words carefully. His tone was strained, laced with a touch of anger, only for a change I didn't feel like that anger was directed at me.

"There is a way we can seek guidance," Garrick said, getting up and walking over to where we sat. A hint of anxiety twisted his handsome features and his eyes skittered almost nervously over Harper's face. "We can go and see Josiah."

Harper stiffened and the blush from his cheeks faded quickly. "No," he said firmly. "There has to be another way."

"Then suggest something, brother because I'm out of ideas and Megan will continue to suffer until we do something," Garrick snapped.

I glanced from one to the other, feeling the tension crank up ten-fold and the air seemed to crackle louder than the flames in the hearth. "Who is Josiah?" I asked.

"Someone who could help us. Someone who could help you," Garrick said.

"The seer will not help us," spat Harper. "Forget Josiah."

I leant forward, my ears pricking up. "A seer? Isn't that like a mystic or something?"

"Megan, seers are no fairground fortune-tellers," mused Garrick. "Seers have prophetic powers; they are seekers of hidden truths. In short, they see what we cannot. Some myths speak as if seers channel the power of God himself, as if their foresight is somehow divine in nature but trust me, there's not much divine about the seers." He gave a wry smile. "But if anyone can help us, it will be them."

"And at what price this time, Garrick?" snarled Harper, his eyes dark and full of scorn.

Garrick recoiled and I saw that facade slip again, uncertainty marking his face. "Whatever the cost, I will pay it," he insisted.

"They charge for their ...services?" I asked, unsure of what to call whatever it was that the seers had to offer.

"Fairground fortune-tellers they are not," Harper replied. "But they will demand you cross their palms in return for their so-called guidance. Only they don't deal in silver, Megan. No, their price is always far higher than that."

"And whatever that might be, I said I will pay for it," Garrick interjected angrily. "We might have possession of Lucius and Megan, but Drachmann clearly knows more about this whole archangel thing than we do and we cannot let him or the Varúlfur gain the upper hand. And what good is Megan to anyone if she is so overwhelmed by this power that we end up losing her? Whatever the price, surely it has to be worth it?"

"I recall you saying that last time," Harper said darkly, his brooding stare boring into Garrick's face.

**********

Whitechapel seemed strangely quiet that evening.

We had left the asylum just after sunset, Harper, Garrick and I filing through the narrow alleyways to where Garrick's car waited, leaving Page and Sergio in charge of watching Lucius. Kale and Blaine had left just before us; off to investigate a Varúlfur sighting over by Old Street tube station whereas we were heading north-east, crossing the canal in the direction of Hackney Marshes. The hair prickled on my neck as we walked towards the car, not because any danger lurked nearby as we would have detected it immediately, but because the streets seemed eerily muted, as if someone had turned down the volume button on the usual noise and chaos.

The idea of going to meet with the seer, Josiah, had left me feeling confused and frightened. I wanted so much to find some kind of peace from the voices that plagued my every moment yet the idea of the payment filled me with dread. It was clear from what Garrick and Harper had said that it had nothing to do with money, yet if the seers didn't want money, what did they ask for in return for their help? Whatever it was, it had locked the brothers into a stilted stalemate and the journey was haunted by their silence, with Harper staring out of the window and Garrick fixated on the road ahead, his hands curled tightly around the steering wheel.

I rested my head against the cool of the window and watched the murky world of Whitechapel slink by, cutting past Bethnal Green and crossing over the canal into Mare Street, which we followed all the way up until we turned east just before Hackney Central. My eyes were drawn to the darkest places, the unlit doorways, under bridges, everywhere the shadows lurked, everywhere where we would lurk and I wished I could be there now, close to the vibrant beating of hearts, watching, and waiting. It still scared me just how easy the pull had been, how blissful it had seemed to just give in to the hunger but the fear of becoming a Feeder seemed somewhat diminished in comparison to whatever lay ahead of us now.

The snow had been relentless during my deep slumber, with the rest of the country becoming a slave to the wintry showers as trains were delayed, flights were cancelled and people became convinced that Armageddon had arrived in the guise of Mother Nature. London, however, rarely stopped, the speed just went down a notch and the streets here were just a haven for thick, black slush which clogged the gutters and dirtied your boots. The car travelled up Homerton High Street, past the old Hackney hospital, African eateries and mini-marts with the white plains of the Marshes stretching out up ahead. Before we reached the snowy fields, Garrick took a sharp left by the side of some boarded-up shop fronts and stopped the car down an unlit side road, the glassy remnants of the street light scattering the pavement.

Getting out of the car, I spied a narrow black door with a security pad by the side, towards which Garrick walked confidently, quickly tapping in a number.

"You know the security code?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

Garrick grinned at me. "I should do. I own the damn place."

Opening the door, he led us into the top of an equally narrow stairwell, the steps leading downwards into the gloom. The smell of sweat pervaded the air and I wrinkled my nose as it intensified the further we descended. It was suffocatingly warm, a claustrophobic contrast to the chill of the winter air outside and as we reached the bottom and faced another door, I could hear the pounding bass of music pumping from within and the sound of many voices, all loud and full of aggression. Another security code later and the door opened, releasing a cacophony of noise, a blast of heat and the strong acrid stench of perspiration. 

In the centre of the room was a large boxing ring, with two men, both vampires, stripped to their shorts and boots, their hands cushioned by gloves and bodies drenched in sweat as they threw stealthy punches at each other, entertaining those who hung off the sides of the ring, jeering and chanting. Surrounding the ring were a number of others, all either working out on gym equipment or sparring, their laboured grunts and the sound of fists slamming into flesh echoing around the room. I stood, stunned for a moment as I digested the scene before me, overwhelmed by the noise. The air was dense with heat and my clothes were already sticking to my skin, my throat desert-dry, as if the room had sucked out the moisture, pulling it into an arid vacuum.

"What is this place?" I shouted to Garrick, trying to make myself heard above the music.

"An underground gym, if you like. A place where we can come to train, learn how to fight, how to survive."

In the ring, one boxer was bleeding, a cut on his lip causing the flesh to swell slightly and he spat out a thick globule of red saliva onto the canvas. He grinned, revealing blood-stained teeth and beckoned the other fighter to come at him again and their gruesome dance continued, fists smacking against bone, punctuated by the cheers of the onlookers.

Garrick led us past the ring, weaving in and out of the others who worked out nearby, many of whom stopped to offer him a small perfunctory nod of the head in welcome, some shaking his hand and most of them blatantly staring at me, their eyes running over my body and showering me with appreciative smiles. I was aware of how close Harper kept to my side as we followed Garrick through the room and he glared down anyone who looked like they might want to do more than just throw smiles my way.

Cutting all the way across to the other side, Garrick stopped suddenly, his attention fixed on the farthest and darkest corner of the room where a large punch bag hung from the ceiling and a man stood with his back to us, pummelling the cushioned bag with powerful punches, the impact of each one almost knocking the breath from my body. He was tall, at least six-four and powerfully built, the muscles in his broad shoulders and back slicked with sweat as he moved about the bag, his feet moving quickly and silently on the floor despite his huge bulk. His grey, sweat-soaked joggers hung low on his hips and I watched enthralled as he hit again and again, never losing momentum, moving with the bag as it swung back and forth. Finally he stopped, gripping the bag and holding it still and as he did so, he tilted his head back and sniffed the air, inhaling long and deep.

"Garrick," he boomed and turned his head in our direction, his face mostly cloaked in shadow. "It's been a while." I noted his strong, gruff East London accent immediately, clearly a real Hackney boy.

"Josiah," Garrick replied in greeting as the big man walked over to a side bench and picked up a thick white towel, rubbing it over his chest and arms before wrapping it around his neck and walking towards us, stopping just a couple of metres away.

He seemed much bigger close-up, a powerhouse of a man, strongly defined muscles taut across his chest and stomach, hands so huge they looked as if he could quite easily crush your skull and reduce it to nothing but dust. But it was not his sheer size that caused me to gasp out loud, nor was it his completely white eyes that were totally devoid of coloured-iris or pupil.

"You're a vampire!" The words escaped my lips before I could stop them.

Josiah's white, blank eyes fixed upon me and I felt their touch deep inside my head before I even realised that he was not blind as I had first thought and that he could see me perfectly well. Then, with a wide grin that revealed the sharp points of his incisors, he stepped closer, having to bend down to move his face close to mine and it was all I could do not to turn and run as he loomed over me.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice like the distant rumble of thunder. "And you darling, are something else entirely, aren't you?" He took my hand in his and raised it to his lips, planting a small soft kiss on my knuckles. "Josiah Hope, completely and utterly at your service."