Free P.N.E. (The Wolfblood Prophecies Book 4) by Avril Silk

wouldn’t fall for her, and now everything is ruined. It’s all your fault.
    As Jo reeled at the terrible thought, a deafening siren blared out and a steely voice issued clear orders.
    OPERATIVES WILL MAKE THEIR WAY
    TO THEIR PLACE OF WORK.
    Front doors opened, and people poured out onto the street – men, women, children and babes-in-arms. All wore the same steel grey clothing; a few had patched and tattered great-coats over their work suits but others just shivered in the biting wind. They were all filthy and malnourished.
    Jo had been thinking hard. I have to find Matthew, or Sebastian, so I can dream my way back to 1957 and give back the book and make this right. And I need to go now – the crowd will give me cover.
    So saying she grabbed the heavy, dusty coat hanging on the back of the door, and swiftly made her way along a deserted corridor towards the street. A grey knitted hat in the pocket covered her auburn curls, rendering her reasonably anonymous.
    Although nothing like the state-of-the-art Glory Heights, the abandoned building she was in had obviously once been a basic medical centre. She passed a small operating theatre and laboratory, all equipment and furniture long gone, leaving only fly-blown posters on the walls and old, rusty blood stains on the floor. Poky side rooms might once have been wards. The lift wasn’t working, and with no electricity the building was cold, dark and eerie. Most of the windows were smashed, and there were gaping holes in the brickwork, with rubble and broken glass blocking her way in places. Any hope Jo had of finding some headache pills evaporated.
    There was nothing to indicate that the finest hospital in the world had been, or ever would be, built on this site. The entrance had been boarded over with notices saying:
    BUILDING CONDEMNED
    SITE CONTAMINATED
    NO ENTRY
    The wood had been recently splintered as if someone had tried to force their way in. As Jo squeezed out she saw bullet holes in the door frame and fresh blood stains spattered on the ground and on the jagged timbers. An icy wind whipped at her clothes, instantly stripping any warmth from her coat.
    The blood led to a pile of rags – a pile of rags that twitched convulsively. To Jo’s horror, a bony hand caught at her ankle.
    ‘Help me.’ The voice was barely audible. Jo struggled with her terror, and bent closer. Afraid of what she might see, she moved the rags away from the anguished face of a young priest. Unable to stop herself, Jo cried out as she saw the burns and cuts that screamed their testimony to torture. The words FAITH FREAK had been gouged across his forehead.
    As the crowds of grey-clad workers passed them by, averting their eyes to studiously avoid Jo and the priest, she drew the dying young man to her, and gently stroked his mutilated face. For the briefest of merciful moments the healing lotus danced at her fingertips, pearly and iridescent, and the priest’s pain and distress visibly lessened. He looked searchingly at Jo’s face, then managed a shadow of a smile as he decided to trust her.
    ‘Tell… Reg. They… found me. I told them… nothing. ’ Again that sweet smile, then his eyes widened with pain a s the lotus vanished. There was a terrible rattling sound and all was still.
    The crowd was moving quickly now, and Jo knew instinctively she could not risk being alone on the street. She had to get moving. She quietly closed the young man’s eyes. There was nothing more she could do. She stood up and joined the people making their way towards the ominously looming factory chimneys.
    As she looked around, hoping to see a landmark she could recognise, she realised that the lamp posts, rusted and mostly lacking their lanterns, were nevertheless bristling with brand-new loud hailers and security cameras swivelling through 360 degrees. Had she been seen trying to help the priest?
    Uniformed thugs, dressed in the VMN colours, armed with truncheons, suddenly swooped round a corner, beating