"Brady Street Cemetery? Why here? Why Whitechapel?" Edward scratched at his beard and scowled deeply, his black eyes glowering under thick brows.

The hearth was cold and blackened with ash. I sat on the rug in front of the great fireplace, picking at the frayed edge of the carpet.

Harper was staring at me. I didn't need to look up to know that his eyes were upon me. I could feel them tracing a path across my skin, like fingertips running across my eyelids, my cheekbones, my lips. I concentrated on the rug, pulling on a thread and winding it around my forefinger.

"Because it's our territory. And what better way to placate us than by agreeing to meet on our ground?" Garrick said. "And although the cemetery is closed to the public, it is surrounded on all sides by blocks of flats. Any attack would be seen and heard. They are making a statement: We will not harm you. And why would they? It is to their benefit that this meeting goes ahead, as does the deal."

I couldn't resist glancing sullenly over at Garrick, who sat behind Benjamin's desk, his long legs splayed out in front of him as he slouched arrogantly in his seat. He caught my stare and raised an eyebrow, challenging me to speak up.

I said nothing. He wanted the argument. I could feel it as much as I could still feel Harper's eyes upon me. And I wanted neither. I wanted to sleep without dreaming. I wanted to be awake without seeing. Open my eyes. Close my eyes. It was all the same in the end because what Lucius had shown me would never leave me now.

"Well in that case, we'd better be prepared," sniffed Edward.

"Oh don't worry, old friend," Garrick said, still staring at me. "We will be."

Biting my tongue, I stalked out of the room although I didn't get far before someone grabbed hold of my arm and I was whirled around to find Harper there, his eyes scrutinising mine as if searching for something hidden deep within.

"What's going on?" he said.

"What do you mean?" I feigned innocence but knew immediately my voice sounded weak and unconvincing. He dug his fingers into my arm as his grip tightened.

"Don't treat me like a fool, Megan. I know you. And this isn't you. You're not talking to anyone. You've been spending way too much time with the boy even though I know you can't stand to be near him. And you just let Garrick openly goad you and yet you said nothing."

"And what do you expect me to say to him?" I snapped, yanking my arm out of his grasp yet still feeling the imprint of his fingers on my skin. "That we don't need to do a deal with the Varúlfur to prove anything? That this deal has nothing to do with wanting peace for our kind and everything to do with lining his pockets? It's pointless, Harper. Everything is pointless."

I slumped back against the wall and tore my eyes from his, no longer able to bear the heavy touch of his gaze.

"Pointless?" he raised an eyebrow, but I saw the flicker of doubt ripple across his face.

"Haven't you said the same yourself? There's no hope. There is nothing more for us."

"But you don't believe that? You never did. And now all of a sudden you don't want to fight? Why?"

The suspicion was raging through him, clawing at him and refusing to let go.

"Because this whole thing fucking reeks, that's why. We shouldn't be doing any kind of deal with them, especially not one involving selling a child."

"He's not...."

"Don't you dare," I hissed. "Go down to his room, Harper. Go and look at him surrounded by all his toys and books and wearing those bloody Buzz Lightyear socks and tell me he is not a child!"

He glanced down the corridor, his brow furrowed deeply. I took my chance.

"You know it, Harper," I whispered conspiratorially, taking a step closer to him and placing my hand gently on his chest. "You know this is all wrong. I can feel it. You think you know me, well I know you too. And I know you'd rather live in Hell for eternity than shake hands with the Varúlfur."

His cheek muscles tensed as he looked down at me. I moved my hand up to his neck, sliding my fingers into his hair and pressing myself against him feeling him instinctively respond just as I knew he would.

"We could leave you know."

His eyes widened slightly.

"You and me. We could go tonight. We could take Lucius and go somewhere they will never find us. No deals. No Varúlfur. You don't want to be a part of this, you never did. We could leave all this behind."

My lips found his neck and I kissed him just under his jaw line. He sighed and let his palms travel to my back, pulling me even tighter against him. Then, quickly and firmly, those hands moved to my shoulders and he held me away from him, his face like cold stone.

"Megan, the decision has been made," he said. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I raged. "I thought you were meant to be the leader here, not your little brother? It was you that got the masses to join the fight, not him."

His eyes narrowed darkly and he stood straight, towering over me in a way that would have made the old Megan cower in a corner. "This is Garrick's deal, not mine. But I am not about to let him walk into a meeting with the Varúlfur without me. You should feel the same but instead you suddenly want to run away with me? I'm not buying it. Maybe this has nothing to do with Lucius at all. Maybe you're just worried about seeing hubby again?"

"Maybe you're worrying about that more than I am?" I said, my lips curling into a sneer. But the truth was; I was worried. I remembered Brandon's warning only too well. I remembered his mouth on my skin and his hands gripping me too tightly. I remembered seeing the hate in his eyes and something more besides, something that tugged cruelly on my memories of our past life together.

"I doubt that very much. In fact, I'm very much looking forward to seeing him." He folded his arms across his chest and smiled a smug, arrogant smile.

"Why? What are you planning?" I said, wide-eyed.

"Why would I be planning anything?" he said, feigning innocence no better than I had just moments before. "You heard Garrick. That place is open wide. I can't touch him and he can't touch me."

His smile grew wider and I recoiled from him, knowing that he was never going to be my way out and wondering why I had ever thought he might be. I'd never felt quite so much like the old Megan than I did then. Alone and lost and utterly terrified. I was fearful of what he might be capable of doing. I feared him and I feared for him. I feared for us all. 

But most of all, I feared myself. And that was something I knew I could never run from.

*********

The frost was thick and heavy on the ground and it crunched under my boots as I shifted uncomfortably, my eyes darting around the burial ground.

Clenching my fists by my side, I dug my nails into my palms and tried to ignore the fervent whispers that whirled around me, rushing through the air and whipping past my ear. Some spouted evil intentions, threatening vile, unspeakable acts that made my stomach churn to hear them but it was the beseeching, anguished cries for help that made me want drown them out with my own screams. I knew that coming to the cemetery would not be easy but being here just compounded the fear that was consuming me. There were just too many voices. I dug in harder, cutting skin and hoped that this meeting would be over before the tumultuous cries brought me to my knees.

Garrick had been right about the Brady Street Jewish Cemetery. It was closed to the public, not that access had been difficult for us, and it was guarded on all sides by high rise blocks of flats that stood like cold grey sentinels, the occasional lit window like little beady eyes watching our every move. There were a few trees posted here and there, their branches stretching above like veins against the night sky. High walls meant any passers-by would not see what went on within, but the tower blocks kept watch regardless and I knew our time here would be limited; for fear that residents would spot our little get-together.

We had arrived in numbers some time in advance of schedule and our Gravestock cells had spread themselves out around the surrounding area, monitoring the icy back streets for signs of the Varúlfur. Garrick did not believe it was an ambush but it was better to be vigilant and our enemy had to know that we would not walk blindly into negotiations.

We stood not far from the centre of the cemetery, where the ground had been raised four feet higher so that they could bury on top of old graves, having run out of space to cram in the bodies. Crumbling and moss-covered gravestones were packed together like the overlapping decaying teeth of some great monster, indicating who lay above and who lay crushed beneath them. Grave upon grave. Bones upon bones.

I had always thought there was something forbidden about standing on top of graves, as if stepping foot on someone's final resting place was highly offensive to the dead and paid for by one punishment only: the offender would be pulled into the cold, damp ground, where the earth would fill his mouth, muting his screams and he would remain forever locked in the embrace of the dead. I did my best to avoid the graves themselves but it was difficult when there were just so many and my feet kept slipping on the icy hard ground.

Surprisingly, despite our recent altercation, Harper remained close to my side but we did not talk and I felt the distance between us as if we were separated by an unyielding block of granite that we would never be able to break down. I had tried subterfuge to get him on my side, appealing desperately to his desire and he had been immovable like stone, stinging me with his Brandon accusations once again.

Standing on the other side of Harper, Garrick waited with his eyes fixed ahead, his long Mohawk neatly secured and his mouth set in a grim line. This was the Garrick I had first met. Dangerous, quietly menacing and coldly-measured, never in need of the chase; he would wait, poised and ready to strike.

Also with us in the graveyard, were Garrick's inner circle, Page, Blaine, Sergio and Kale. Edward had been put in charge of the cells and was now positioned in the stairwell in one of the apartment blocks, in radio contact with Garrick. Every now and then Garrick would touch a finger to his earpiece and tilt his head slightly to one side, as if the signal was breaking up.

"They're here," Garrick said and I felt the tension crank up like static as we all waited for the Varúlfur to finally appear.