Page 5 of Master Wolf

Stepping out of his office, he found Albert still perched on his high stool, patiently scribing in his neat, careful script.

The man glanced up, a polite question in his gaze.

“I’m going home for the day,” Drew informed him. “Do you mind locking up? It’s nearly time.”

“Of course, sir,” Albert said. “I’ll do so once I’ve finished this letter. It won’t take me above another quarter hour.”

“Very good.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, sir, will you be in tomorrow? I have this letter and four others for you to sign before dispatch.”

Drew paused. He’d been intending to come in as usual, but something about the question had his mind racing with sudden possibilities. Perhaps he should go to check on that canal project in Manchester? He had other interests in Lancashire he could look in on at the same time—he was not the sort of investor to sit back and wait for things to happen. That way disaster lay. He made sure to check on all his investments regularly. Besides, a trip up north might to do something to ease that troublesome itch that was urging him to leave London.

“I’ll be in tomorrow,” Drew informed Albert. “But I’ll be leaving for Manchester the day after and expect to be gone a fortnight at least.”

“Very good, sir.” Albert was used to Drew’s regular absences. He had many calls on his time, not only in relation to his investments, but also to undertake services for Francis and Marguerite from time to time. They did not trouble him too often, but often enough.

“Good night then,” Drew said, heading for the door.

“Good night, sir.”

Once out of the office, Drew slowly descended the three flights of stairs to the main door. As usual he was struck by how much he disliked this stairwell. The lines and proportions were all wrong. Even now, such details captured his attention. At the time of his transformation, he’d been an architect, with ambitions to design grand, beautiful buildings that would last centuries beyond his own lifetime.

Now, he would probably outlast the buildings.

The reality of life as a werewolf was that one could never stay anywhere too long. Humans soon began noticing when one did not age. It had taken him some time to accept that reality. After Lindsay had bitten him, he’d continued in his profession, working at the same firm, living the same life he had before, under the careful eye of Francis Neville.

But the bite had changed him. Changed everything. After a few years, he’d accepted that. He’d left Edinburgh and, since then, he hadn’t been back. Nor had he so much as thought of designing another building. Instead, he’d travelled and learned, a new curiosity about the world driving him from place to place. In the course of his adventures he’d discovered he had a knack for commerce—an ability to spot good investments and grow capital. Marguerite considered financial security a vital part of protecting their small pack, and since she appreciated Drew’s investment acumen, she did not complain about his preference for spending most of his time apart from the rest of the pack.

Pushing the main door open, Drew stepped out to find the evening mild, the tinge of warmth in the air the first he’d felt in many months. It was a pleasant evening for a stroll, and he set off for home at an easy pace, willing himself to settle. He should feel perfectly calm. It was a good while till the next full moon, so his wolf had no immediate need to run. He had no other pressing obligations to attend to, and he was looking forward to an entertaining evening tonight. His dining companion was a geologist, a man with some fascinating new ideas Drew was keen to discuss and a glint in his eye that suggested he was interested in more than mere conversation.

Despite all of that though, Drew still felt on edge. As though poised for something calamitous.

He accomplished the walk home in a little less than half an hour and was welcomed at the front door by his housekeeper, Mrs. Rowntree. He was rather surprised to see her, since she did not live in and had usually left for the day when he got home. She was plainly ready to leave. Her habitual apron was off—presumably it was folded up inside the large reticule she had clutched between her thin hands—and had been replaced by a woollen grey shawl secured with a cameo brooch at her bosom. Her poke bonnet covered her iron-grey hair, but unfortunately did nothing to conceal the expression of annoyance on her unhappy face.

“Mrs. Rowntree,” he said carefully. “Is everything all right?”

“I’ve had to wait behind on account of your visitor, sir,” the housekeeper said. “You didn’t mention you was expecting anyone this evening and I need to get home to my mother.”

Visitor?

“I apologise,” Drew said. “I wasn’t expecting anyone as a matter of fact. Is the gentleman inside?”

Mrs. Rowntree’s lips thinned. “It’s not a gentleman, sir. She said her name’s Madame Loup, if you please. Insisted on coming in even though I said you wasn’t here. Said she’d wait for you in the parlour. Well, I’ve not been able to leave, have I? In case she makes off with the—”

“That’s enough, Mrs. Rowntree,” Drew said firmly, adding more gently, “I’m sorry you’ve been inconvenienced. I will, of course, pay you for the extra half hour.”

She gave a short nod, seeming somewhat, if not entirely, mollified. “Well, if that’s all, I’ll be off, sir. I need to see to Mother. She’s already waited too long.”

“Of course. Good night.”

The housekeeper left, closing the door smartly behind her.

For a few moments, Drew simply stood there in the hall, contemplating the interview to come. He knew who his visitor was, of course. Even if he had not been able to guess from the ridiculously obvious name, he had her scent now, a faint trail of violets leading to the parlour where she waited for him.

She would probably have his scent too.

He wondered why she was here. Did she have an errand for him? Or was she only calling because she was in London anyway?