Amongst the Order (Watchers of the Veil #1)

Chapter 7

The drive was long and tedious. I kept my eyes on the road, Alfie read his book, Alex hummed to the radio and Florence stared out the window – each of us near-silent as the tyres rumbled on the tarmac. We reached London mid-afternoon and, after a short bathroom and coffee break, headed for the address given in the journal, as directed by Alex.

The house was located just south of London, further towards the countryside than the city. We had been stuck on a narrow road for quite some time, hidden between tall walls of heather and thorns, until we turned left into a set of open iron gates and along a gravel driveway passed a striped, mowed lawn.

Florence's jaw dropped and Alfie nearly lost his book beneath the car seat as the house came into view. It was not your typical English upper-class home, and had instead been built like a modern American manor, spanning three floors made of squared glass and painted white bricks. Although the sterile glass-cage aesthetic was not to my tastes, it was evident that this man had a hefty sum sitting in his bank, holding onto far more than even a Sentinel could make in a lifetime.

"This," gawked Florence, "is where the hunter lives?"
"Ex-hunter," Alex clarified. "Though, most choose retirement homes more humble than this."
I pointed at the building, catching the daylight as it bounced off the glass. "This, Alex, is the opposite of humble."

All four of us exited the car, eyes pinned on the entrance of the house. It resembled a temple at the front; white, glossed and decorated with rectangular marble columns that guarded the door. We passed the garden, Florence and I sneezing at the cut grass. Alex pressed the doorbell and I reached for the pocket my crossbow had been folded into. Dad's old friend or not, we didn't know Leopold Hopkins.

The door opened a fraction. An old man, short and round, answered with a frown. "I am sorry but Mr. Hopkins is not accepting visitors today."

He tried to shut the door but Alex wedged his foot in the gap. The old man's eyes widened more in challenge than fear. "We need to speak with him," he said. "It's urgent."
"No exceptions. Could you please move your foot, sir?"

Florence piped up. "We drove for two days to meet Mr. Hopkins. We are not leaving without speaking to him." I straightened up, putting in effort to hold back a beaming grin at her defiance. As long as she did not hold that attitude with me, she could keep it.
"I don't care how long it took you to get here. No exceptions."
"Not even for us?"

I pulled down my collar, showing him the mark of the hunter, recognisable to all who knew of us. Even if only a hunter for a few years, Leopold would know what it was. His aged features softened.
"Names?"
"Erika Lupine. This is Alex Arwood and Alfie and Florence Mullein."
He sighed in defeat. "Come in."

The entrance hall – yes, entrance hall– echoed with our footsteps as we filed in. I rotated as I walked, marvelling at the golden chandelier that draped down like willow branches above the matching broad staircase. Alex whistled.
"Damn."

Alfie cleaned his lenses as if making sure we were all seeing the same thing. "How does Mr. Hopkins have the money for a house like this?"
The old man blinked. "Leopold... has this ways." His moustache twitched. "I am Robert, by the way."
Florence smiled. "Nice to meet you, Robert."
Robert raised his brows. "Hm."

I almost laughed at his not-so-obvious lack of a 'likewise' or 'and you' but managed to bite it back. The man hated us already, it seemed, and did not like to be bothered, especially by a group he thought of as no more than children.

Robert gestured to the staircase. "If you would..."

Abstract art of bold colours decorated the upstairs walls as Robert led us to the back of the house, passed glass cabinets of books and ornaments, but no photographs. I peeled my eyes for any indication that Leopold was still hunting but found none. The books were mainly celebrity autobiographies, cookbooks and a single dictionary; the ornaments nothing but modern clocks and porcelain statues of flowers, birds and bats, none possessing any colour whatsoever.