Chaos Bound (13 page)

‘What kind of rumours?’ I asked, curious as to who was starting them.

Kruger dodged the question. ‘Do you know what it means to the nephilim to discover there is a female of their kind in existence?’

‘That they’ve gained a little sister?’ I flashed half a dimple.

‘Nephilim are possessive, violent males who’ve been raised in a life of servitude. They are taught to forsake all earthly possessions for the cause they were born for. They are taught that nothing matters but to serve the Grigori.’

‘What’s your point?’

Kruger stopped pacing and came up to the bars, eyes cold. ‘My point is, your existence could make the nephilim start to think outside of the world of violence and obedience the Grigori whipped into them. You’re an unknown factor. A variable. The Grigori might still think you are a Witch Hunter, but sooner or later, they will believe the rumours.’

‘How? My disguise is a pretty damned good one. Fooled me for nearly thirty years.’ I realised I was touching the charm around my neck, and dropped my hand.

Kruger gave a tired sigh. ‘So it’s true.’

‘So? What do you care?’ I felt like stamping a foot and throwing a tantrum. ‘This isn’t the issue. You said Roman’s missing. We need to find him.’

‘Was he with you?’ Kruger shot back. ‘Was he involved with what happened at that society event last night? I heard there was a murder.’

My pause was a split second too long. ‘He wasn’t there.’

Kruger cursed bitterly. ‘Where is he?’

‘I don’t know.’ I rubbed my eyes. ‘But if he came to me for help, why would I tell you? Sounds like you’d just turn him in.’

Kruger’s lips thinned. ‘You think this doesn’t kill me? Roman is my brother-in-arms. I need to find him before this situation gets out of hand. I've even had a man stationed near that cave of his, in case he turns up there.’

His words punched through my thoughts and I felt suddenly breathless. ‘How do know —’

The words spilled from my lips before I could stop them. Kruger made a small, weary gesture. ‘You don’t think the Grigori knew about his little retreat? That it wasn’t a red mark against him?’

‘How is it you knew about the cave?’ I pressed.

Kruger’s eyes flickered. ‘He told me once.’

‘You’re lying. Roman said no-one knew of it. You know what I think? The only way you know about that place is because you’ve been following him. Because maybe that’s your job, right? Keeping an eye on him? What a real friend you are.’

Kruger caught my bitter tone, and his forehead creased. ‘I am his friend. You need to contact me if he comes to you.’

‘I'll think about it.’ The lie slipped smooth off my tongue. When I found Roman, I wasn’t thinking about turning him over. I was going to help him get as far away from the Grigori as possible.

I sat in Seth’s kitchen, listening to the lawyer talk. Apparently there were terms for my release, which Seth had arranged. I was still allowed to work and travel, but I had to stay in Seth’s custody. With those kind of terms on my freedom, I was left wondering if I'd rather stay in the City Watch jail.

Seth’s home was on Gilsen Street. It was a polite neighbourhood, where the hedges were trimmed weekly, women wore expensive shoes and men tipped their hats when you passed them on the street.

Seth’s kitchen was a full house. I nursed a black coffee at the kitchen table while Gideon sat next to me, drooping under his hangover. Seth lounged across the table, picking at the plate of the sweet pastries Orella had bought with her. The elf-witch stood by the stove, casting dark looks at Seth, as if she blamed him for everything. The hired lawyer sat beside Seth, looking tiny in a suit two sizes too big. His glasses swallowed half his face, and he chewed his nails as if he had a nervous disposition. I'd signed the forms he’d passed me, and they sat neatly stacked in front of him.

Sipping my coffee, I asked him to repeat what he’d just said, my mind distracted with concern for Roman. I wanted to start searching for him, but knew it would be difficult to get away, now I was under scrutiny for Grundler’s murder.

The lawyer adjusted his glasses. ‘I
said
, you will be charged with manslaughter by the Order. That’s standard procedure in a death where darkcraft is suspected. The trial is set up for three days from now, at noon. I will meet you here and we’ll go over some last minute notes before travelling to the Order together.’ He looked across the table and at my ripped and bloody dress. ‘I suggest you wear something conservative.’

‘You have a good case that it was self-defence,’ Seth told me. ‘There were enough witnesses in the ballroom.’

‘The real problem is that there were no witnesses to the attack in the maze.’ The lawyer gathered up the forms and tucked them into a leather satchel. ‘It all hinges on her say-so.’

‘Do you think the Order will believe her?’ Gideon rasped.

‘Helloooo.’ I waved a hand. ‘Sitting right here?’

‘If she doesn’t go around killing anyone else in the next few days, I should be able to side-step the issue about how she knew the darkcraft spell in the first place.’ The lawyer frowned at me. ‘Do you think that’s possible? Not killing anyone?’

I touched fingertips to my chest. ‘What do you take me for?’

He sniffed. ‘I've heard some very bleak stories about you.’

‘Don’t believe every bleak story you hear.’

‘I heard your nickname was White Death.’

I buried my head in my hands and gave a soft groan.

The lawyer cleared his throat. ‘Though your terms say you can still work, I would suggest you cancel any jobs you have until this has been cleared up. If anything else questionable happens, it will muddy the waters.’

I lowered my hands and raised my head. ‘How am I going to pay my bills?’

His face grew concerned. ‘I hope you don’t mean: how are you going to pay my bill?’

‘Don’t worry about that.’ Seth got to his feet to escort the small bespectacled man out. ‘I'll tap some contacts and make sure Lora has someone else on her side at the trial. I guarantee she’ll walk out of this thing with just a slap on the wrist.’

Gideon watched Seth depart the kitchen with the lawyer, then stood with a long-suffering sigh. ‘I will take my leave also.’ He wrinkled his nose. ‘I need a very long bath.’

‘I don’t trust Hallow,’ Orella said to me. ‘You shouldn’t either.’

‘Lora will be fine, mother hen.’ Gideon walked over to her, placing his hands on her small shoulders. ‘There is not much that can be done at this point.’

Orella squinted up at him with her good eye. ‘I don’t trust him.’ Her eye shifted to me. ‘You know you can’t trust him either. Everything he does is self-serving. He can’t help it, it’s in his nature.’

‘He’s never done anything wrong by me.’ I instantly regretted my words. Why was I standing up for him?

Seth returned to the kitchen, hesitating when he saw the vein pulsing in Orella’s forehead. ‘Lora will be safe here, I give you my word.’

‘Your word is no good to me,’ Orella growled. ‘Once a hellspawn, always a hellspawn.’

Seth threw his hands up. ‘Must I wear my past like a yoke around my neck? Don’t you believe in people changing? From what I've heard, your past wasn’t full of saintly acts either.’

‘Don’t you compare our pasts.’ Orella’s voice rose. ‘Anything I did when I was young was out of necessity to survive.’

‘You don’t think maybe that’s how I lived as well?’ Seth shot back.

‘I'm in his debt,’ I reminded Orella. ‘He bailed Gideon and myself out of jail.’

‘Haven’t you wondered what it takes for a hellspawn to be cast out of The Pit?’ Orella snapped at me.

Seth shot a hand through his hair.’ I won’t deny I was attracted to the idea of power, but I am Lora’s friend, whether she wants me or not. If I seek her company, it’s because I care for her.’

‘Gods above.’ Gideon pinched the bridge of his stubby nose. ‘It’s too early for this kind of soap opera.’

I tried to remind myself Seth was a bastard who’d concealed his identity from me. He was a fallen demon, who’d no doubt committed all sorts of horrible crimes in his past life. An inner voice piped up, reminding that Seth had never done anything wrong by me. If anything, he’d always gone out of his way to show me he cared, at least, in his own way.

Seth moved to the table, and lifted a hand to smooth down my hair and my tired thoughts began to tumble over each other. His familiar touch was comforting, and I let my grievance with his deceit fall away. I took his hand and squeezed it, feeling any anger I had with him subside for now. Whatever his motivation for concealing his past, all I knew was: I needed him now and he was here for me.

After Orella and Gideon had left, Seth noticed my drooping eyelids and sent me to his spare room to lie down. Despite my concern for Roman’s whereabouts, I was too tired to resist a few hours sleep. Stumbling into the appointed spare bedroom, I stripped out of my dress and leg-brace before flopping onto the bed in my underwear. I was still thinking of Roman when I fell into the welcome abyss of sleep.

The city clock bell rang out at noon, waking me from a restless nightmare I couldn’t remember. I sat up and wiped the drool around my mouth. Re-strapping my leg, and reluctantly struggling back into the dress, I went to the kitchen in search of coffee.

Seth had left a note on the bench, reminding me of our appointment with his Outland contact, and that he’d collect me later in the day from his house.

I crumpled the note, frustrated. Finding Roman was my priority. But first? Coffee. Then? A plan. I searched Seth’s cupboards, before finding ground beans and boiling up a pot. Pouring myself a big cup, I nibbled on the last of Orella’s pastries and waited for my brain to join me in the waking world. The first thing I knew I needed to do was go home and see if Roman was there. My nose wrinkled as I caught a whiff of stale sweat and blood; a change of clothes was in order as well.

I caught a rickshaw to home and walked up to my front door. Home was a welcome sight. The broken latch on my door was not. I double checked the protective hexes on my doorframe and found they were charred, the magical runes burned into the wood. Entering cautiously, I groaned as I spied the trashed interior.

One lounge chair had been slashed open, the stuffing an explosion of white fluff. The mirror over my mantel had been smashed, the logs in the fireplace kicked out. My cane lay among charred pieces of wood, and I picked it up, drawing steel. In the kitchen, chairs had been broken, and the contents of my icebox dumped on the ground. The walls in my narrow hallway were covered with graffiti. The writing wasn’t familiar, but the sentiments were clear. Someone didn’t like my taste in interior design, or know how to spell the word ‘whore’.

Feet dragging, I trudged upstairs. Apprehension wound around my chest as I imagined the scene. A quick check showed me that while the bathroom had been left reasonably untouched, my bedroom had been ransacked. The mattress had been shoved off the bed and sliced open. My pillows were gutted, the floor covered in feathers. My stomach plummeted as I saw my shoes and clothes strewn about the floor, some items torn to pieces.

Swallowing back tears, I pulled off my soiled dress and scratched around for some clothes that weren’t ruined. I finally snagged some jeans and a black shirt, followed by my lucky motorcycle jacket, red stripes running down the sleeves. My tanker boots looked unmolested and came next. My hair got braided back, nice and tight. I found my work-belt at the bottom of a pile of rumpled shirts, and was relieved it had been spared any mischief. I buckled it on and went downstairs.

Stepping outside, I paused on my doorstop, sucking in some fresh air. Across the road, a group of streetwalkers slouched against a building, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and twitching their hips at pedestrians. Dodging a rowdy mob of factory workers, I made my way over to them.

‘Excuse me?’ I called out when I was close enough.

The women turned as one and stared at me coolly. I didn’t bother identifying myself. The streetwalkers were a formidable force, and they made it their business to know everything that happened in the neighbourhood. I pulled a couple of notes from my belt and held them up between two fingers. ‘Anyone see who broke into my place?’

A woman with striped stockings and a short baby-blue dress reached over and plucked the money from my fingers. ‘Three women.’

‘You’re kidding.’ I blinked a few times. I'd half been expecting the culprit to be the harelipped, rodent slicing, Lander.

‘They say if you piss off the Sisters of No Mercy, then you get none,’ the woman said indifferently. ‘I'd move if I were you. Dig a hole somewhere.’

‘Thanks for the advice.’ I threw her a crisp smile, and hurried back home. Closing the door behind me, I leant against it and dropped my head, wanting to have a little cry. Sure, my stuff was old, but it had been mine, and someone kicking the shit out of it all was a little too personal for my liking.

A knock rapped on the door, and I gave a shriek. Heart pounding, I pulled the small throwing knife from the back of my belt and yanked the door open, spoiling for a fight.

Crowhurst saw the look on my face and raised his hands. ‘No wonder you don’t have many friends, if that’s the way you keep answering your door.’

A woman stood behind him. She was pale and thin with a small nose, and dressed in black from scarfed head to toe.

‘This isn’t a good time.’ I sheathed the knife and went to shut the door. Crowhurst slapped a hand against it, all humour draining from his face.

‘I've got someone here who wants to talk to you.’

He stepped inside, forcing me to back up or physically shove him out. My rush of adrenalin had faded, and now I was just exhausted. I sighed, backed up and waved an inviting hand about.

‘Excuse the mess.’

Crowhurst’s head swung around as he took in the damage. He whistled low between his teeth. ‘Someone sure doesn’t like you.’

The woman in black crossed my threshold and stood silently behind Crowhurst. Her eyes were sharp as they took in the wreck that had been my living room.

‘I would offer a refreshing beverage,’ I said, ‘but we’d have to lap it up from my kitchen floor and my knees don’t bend like they used to.’