Chapter 103 The Reverend Visitor
PROFESSOR CORNELIUS FELL
I approach the Rookeries at midnight. Six hours before the scheduled extermination.
My disguise is perfect. Simple traveling clothes. Battered medical bag. Concerned expression. I look like sympathetic scholar, not Hermetic Order mage planning specimen collection.
The guards stop me at the perimeter. Two young wolves. Armed but nervous.
"Who are you?" one demands.
"Dr. Thomas Wickham. Cambridge University. I study supernatural medicine." I show forged credentials. "I heard about tomorrow's Parliamentary assault. Came to offer assistance."
"Assistance how?"
"Medical supplies. Magical healing knowledge. Whatever helps." I gesture to my bag. "I don't agree with Parliament's extermination order. These wolves deserve support, not slaughter."
The guards exchange glances. Suspicious but hopeful. Desperate situations make people want to believe in kindness.
"Wait here. We'll get Isla."
They disappear. I stand in the cold. Waiting.
This is the tricky part. Isla Reid is intelligent. Trained nurse. She'll be suspicious of stranger arriving with convenient timing and perfect offers.
But she's also desperate. Tomorrow morning, one hundred hunters attack. Her people need every advantage.
Desperation overrides caution. Always does.
Fifteen minutes later, the guards return with Isla. She looks exhausted. Dark circles under eyes. Hands stained with antiseptic.
She's been preparing for casualties. Knows what's coming.
"Dr. Wickham?" She studies me carefully. "The guards said you're offering help."
"If you'll accept it." I open my bag. Medical supplies spill out. "Bandages, antibiotics, pain medication, surgical tools. Everything a field hospital needs. Plus healing poultices with mild magical properties. Speed recovery without side effects."
"Why would you help us?"
"Because Parliament's extermination order is barbaric. These are people, not problems." I meet her eyes. Honest. Earnest. Completely false. "I've studied supernatural communities for twenty years. Packless wolves organizing for mutual aid is remarkable. Worth preserving, not destroying."
"You realize helping us is treason."
"Only if Parliament discovers it. I'll leave before dawn. No one knows I was here except your wolves. And they're not reporting to Parliament." I smile. "Besides, some things are worth risking treason for."
Isla wants to believe me. I can see it. The war between suspicion and hope playing across her face.
"What do you want in return?" she finally asks.
"Nothing."
"Nobody helps for free."
"I'm not nobody. I'm academic idealist. Naive, probably. But genuine." I pull out more supplies. "If you insist on payment, let me observe your community. Study how packless wolves organize. Research for my work. But that's optional. The supplies are yours regardless."
She takes the medical bag. Examines contents. Everything's legitimate. High-quality. Exactly what she needs.
"This is too much," she says quietly.
"It's exactly enough. For tomorrow." I pull out the healing poultices. "These are specially prepared. Apply to serious wounds. They accelerate supernatural healing. Not magic exactly. More like amplifying natural abilities."
"You're not a doctor, are you?"
Sharp. I expected this.
"I'm scholar who studies medicine. Close enough." I don't deny the implication. "Hermetic Order trained. But I disagree with my Order's position on this situation. They're supporting Parliament. I'm not."
Partial truth. The best lies always contain truth.
"Hermetic Order." Isla's voice goes cold. "Like Professor Fell."
"Cornelius Fell is colleague. His methods..." I shake my head. "We disagree fundamentally. He sees supernaturals as subjects. I see them as people."
"How convenient. The good Hermetic mage arriving right when we need help. Right before battle. Offering exactly what we desperately need." Isla sets the bag down. "I'm not an idiot, Dr. Wickham. Or whoever you really are."
"I'm exactly who I said."
"Then prove it. Let me examine the poultices. Verify they're not poisoned or cursed."
"Of course." I hand them over. "I'd be insulted if you didn't verify."
She takes three poultices to a makeshift lab. Tests them. I wait patiently.
The poultices are clean. I'm not trying to poison anyone. Not yet. First, establish trust. Then exploit it.
Isla returns twenty minutes later. "They're legitimate. Healing properties as advertised. No curses, no poison, no hidden effects."
"Told you."
"Doesn't mean I trust you."
"Good. Trust is dangerous right now." I gesture to the supplies. "But desperate situations require accepting help from uncertain sources. Use the supplies tomorrow. Save lives. Verify my motives later."
She considers. Then nods. "We'll use them. Thank you."
"You're welcome." I prepare to leave. Then, casually. "I noticed children in your shelter. Quite young. Are they safe here during the battle?"
"We're evacuating non-combatants to secure locations."
"Good. I saw one child particularly young. Maybe six months? Hybrid child if I'm not mistaken." I keep my tone academic. Curious but not predatory. "Supernatural-human cross? Remarkable. Such pregnancies rarely succeed."
Isla's face closes. "I'm not discussing the children."
"Of course not. Forgive my curiosity. Academic interest." I smile apologetically. "But if that child needs specialized medical care, I have contacts. People who understand hybrid physiology. They could help."
"We're fine."
"I'm sure you are. But the offer stands. Hybrid children are delicate. Unique biology. Regular supernatural medicine doesn't always work properly." I hand her my card. Fake contact information. "If you need consultation after tomorrow, call me."
She takes the card. Doesn't commit.
"I should go. Before your guards decide I'm spy." I gather my empty bag. "Good luck tomorrow, Isla. I hope you all survive."
"So do we."
I leave the Rookeries. Mission accomplished.
Supplies delivered. Trust partially established. Most importantly, hybrid child confirmed.
I report to Master Thorne via encrypted phone.
"Status?" he asks.
"The child exists. Female. Six months old. Sheltered in Rookeries medical facility. Mother is Marian, pregnant Omega who escaped Cormac's pack." I walk toward my vehicle. "Isla's protective. Won't give access easily."
"Can you extract the child during battle chaos?"
"Possibly. But better to build trust first. Let them survive tomorrow. Then offer specialized medical care. They'll be grateful, traumatized, desperate for help. Perfect conditions for acquiring specimen voluntarily."
"And if they don't survive?"
"Then we extract from the rubble. Either way, we get the child." I reach my car. "This hybrid represents years of research opportunity. Worth patience."
"Agreed. Proceed carefully. Don't alert Isla to true intentions."
"She's already suspicious. But suspicious doesn't matter if she needs what I'm offering."
I drive away from Rookeries. Back toward central London. Back toward Hermetic Order facilities.
Tomorrow morning, extermination begins. Chaos, death, destruction.
Perfect conditions for specimen collection.
Isla thinks I'm sympathetic scholar. Reality: I'm predator waiting for vulnerability.
That hybrid child is mine. Eventually. Whether through trust or force.
Remarkable. Such potential.
I'd love to help her reach it.
In controlled environment. Under scientific study. For the advancement of human knowledge.
The child's name is irrelevant. Her parents are irrelevant. Her humanity is irrelevant.
She's data. Genetic anomaly. Research gold.
And I'm going to have her.