Chaos Bound (23 page)

‘Pawn?’ Gideon’s bushy eyebrows lifted. ‘You are my knight that has been moved into play.’

‘Those sentiments feel pretty chilly from where I'm sitting.’

Gideon spread his hands. ‘I need you to take one for the team, Lora.’

‘What team? Kind of hard to run a business without Runners,’ I said nastily.

‘Don’t you worry about that issue. I've started advertising further afield. I've also got some irons in the fire about what to do with Maya Velkov. She is more dangerous than I gave her credit for. But the first order of business is survival. Once we are safe, then I will try to find a way to extract you from the contract with the Grigori.’ He tapped a finger on the table a few times. ‘Look, I wasn’t sure if I should mention this or not…’ His eyes roamed around the room, looking at everything but me.

‘What?’ I sighed. ‘What else is it?’

Gideon cleared his throat. ‘I know you’ve been hanging around that Regulator. The big one who always looks like someone kicked his dog.’

‘Roman. His name is Roman.’

‘Right.’ Gideon cleared his throat. ‘I heard he’s missing. The Grigori are looking for him. My impression is that, once they find him, he’ll be disappearing. Permanently, if you know what I mean.’

‘Yeah.’ I slumped in my chair. ‘I know.’

‘Good, because a nephilim missing is a nephilim who’s unpredictable.’ Gideon scratched his head, fez tilting further down his head. ‘If you only take one piece of advice from me, keep your distance. If he’s going to go crazy, let him do it someplace else, away from you.’

‘Think it might be contagious?’ My voice was frosty. ‘Roman is my friend. If he came to me for help, I won’t turn him away.’

‘That would be a mistake, Lora.’

‘Then it’s mine to make.’

I couldn’t find a rickshaw to hail, so I walked towards home, stopping in at a bakery to collect up some food. My last meal was a distant memory and skipping breakfast had been a bad idea, though I’d had no choice in the matter. Clutching a paper bag full of honey soaked pastries and a jar of ground coffee, I cut through the back alleys to keep off the main road. While the Grigori had acquitted me, I still didn’t trust them, or the Mayor. Distracted by the smell of fresh bakery goods, it wasn’t until I was nearly home that I realised someone was following me. I turned. Behind me, a large cloaked figure stepped from a doorway, head covered by a hood.

‘Something you want, citizen?’ I asked cautiously. A large hand swept the hood off, and Roman stared back at me. I noted his tight face and fever bright eyes. ‘What are you doing out here?’

‘Where have you been?’ His eyes dropped to the bakery bag in my hands.

‘The Order changed the trial time and picked me up. I didn’t get much say in the matter. ‘

Roman gave a curt nod. ‘What happened?’

‘They agreed it was self-defence and pardoned me.’ At this point, I figured a half-truth was better than a flat-out lie.

‘Then it’s over.’ His voice was strained. Waves of tension wash off him, and anger pull his brow low.

‘What’s wrong?’ I asked, heart speeding up. ‘Did someone come by the house? Did someone see you?’

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘I read your book. The one the nephilim in the Outlands gave you.’

Mentally cursing my stupidity at leaving the book lying around, I stalled. ‘Pretty dry reading, right?’

‘Right until I got to the pages you’d folded down.’

I almost slapped my forehead, but managed to hold back. ‘Roman —’

‘It’s a lie,’ he said quickly. ‘The Grigori would never make such a deal with the Unclean.’ He touched the rune tattoos on his face. ‘I told you. This is a prayer to protect us for the work we do in our father’s names. It is a testimony to our celestial heritage.’

My shoulders slumped. I felt old and tired. ‘There’s no proof what the book says is true. The only people who know are the Grigori themselves.’

‘You should have told me,’ Roman said. ‘You should have trusted me.’

‘I do trust you.’ I reached for him, but he moved away. I let my hand drop, feeling sick. ‘I made a mistake not telling you, but I’d only just read it myself and needed time to think.’

‘You think I am unwell.’ Roman’s eyes gleamed, and sweat beaded his brow. ‘I can see it in your face.’

I wanted to deny it, but knew he’d hear the lie, hear the desperation in my voice. The idea of him being absent from my life caused a sudden hollow throb in my heart.

‘You’re just like everyone else.’ Roman’s words seared through me like fire. ‘You think I'm a monster.’

‘I want to help you.’ I kept my voice strong, like nothing scared me. ‘We discussed how to fix this. Regardless of what torments you now, we have a solution and a way to make sure you stay well.’

‘Which would involve trusting your friend, Hallow, wouldn’t it?’ Roman withdrew into the shadows behind him. ‘He’s the one who took you to meet this other nephilim, so he’d be the one to help you…’ his face twisted, ‘manage me.’

‘Yes, he would help me. He’s our best chance.’ I kept to the whole truth this time, feeling that any hint of a lie at this point could see Roman run the other way. Whatever trust and friendship had sprung up between us now felt as fragile as glass, ready to shatter at a single wrong word.

‘I will not put my life in his hands.’ Roman took another step back. ‘I will take care of this myself.’

My heart kicked faster, and I struggled to keep the panic from my voice. ‘Where will you go?’

‘There are many cracks in this city I could fall into, should I choose.’ Roman pulled his cowl up. ‘I need some time alone to think.’

He walked off. I wanted to run after him and plead for him to stay, say that I was sorry and would do anything he asked of me. But my feet didn’t move. Instinct told me that to push at this point would shove him further away, so I just watched him leave. He came back to me once, I had to trust he’d come back again.

Weary from lack of sleep, and strung-out from the trial at the Order, I returned home with heavy feet. Depression usually made me hungry, but after the fight with Roman I just felt nauseated. So I dragged myself to bed, my thoughts a river of turgid slush.

The city clock was ringing out late afternoon by the time I stirred from a dreamless sleep. I felt better until my stomach reminded me it was empty and my heart reminded me it was broken. Downstairs, I raided the bakery bag, almost inhaling three sticky pastries while I waited for some fresh coffee to brew. Pouring a cup and blowing on the rich steam, I wandered into the living room. My eyes fell on Casper’s book, lying face down on one of my chairs. Settling down, I picked it up and flicked through it again, just to check if I missed anything. Any ray of hope or suggestion that might discredit the book entirely. The nephilim were the backbone of the Order, and the Grigori filled their heads with holy rhetoric from childhood, teaching them the art of violence for the supposed greater good. I was pretty sure if word got out about the books claims of the nephilim’s true bloodlines, the Grigori would have their hands more than full with some rather irritated nephilim.

But the words in the book hadn’t changed, and my injured heart sank lower. Putting the book aside, I pottered around in the kitchen, then sat down with a bowl of soup and watched the sun go down through the kitchen window. Nicola’s wedding celebration would be starting soon, and I had doubts about going. I wasn’t feeling up for radiant happy bride vibes. But as the shadows grew longer, I realised the last thing I wanted to do was sit around mooning about a man.

Sorting through my wardrobe, and piles of clothes I hadn’t gotten around to hanging back up, I found a blue festive wrap dress I'd bought in the Outlands. Slipping my feet into my brocade Cavalli boots, I swept my curls into a French twist. Deciding to leave my bulky work-belt behind, I tucked a small pouch of salt into one of my boots, and a knife in the other, just to be safe. A girl could never be too careful.

Buttoning up a saffron coloured coat, I locked my front door behind me and started walking, cane tapping against the pavement. A rickshaw with rattling engine cogs stopped for my hail and I told the driver where I wanted to go. He turned in his seat and gave me a knowing wink, asking if I was a guest of the Marrok family. I said I was, and he got me there faster than was technically safe. We stopped deep in the Quarter, at the mouth of a street that had been blocked off with large wine barrels. I got out and tipped the driver generously.

Approaching the festivities, my feelings of doom and gloom lifted a fraction. Long tables ran down the road, covered with tablecloths in shades of purple and red. Wildflowers were strewn down the middle, dotted with glass jars filled with flickering candles and lanterns swung gently between gas street lamps. Fiddlers played near an iron fire pit, and women danced in front of them, bright skirts swirling to the music. I guess being a Marrok got you more than a civil ceremony and a jug of wine at the local saloon.

I found Crowhurst on the outskirts of the festive crowd, and pulled him aside. ‘How did the ceremony go?’

He grinned, and I smelled wine on his breath. ‘My mother cried. My cousins fought. My aunts got drunk. Business as usual in our family. If you’re looking for Orella, I saw her here a moment ago.’

‘I didn’t know she was coming.’ I was searching the crowd when a man with curly dark hair and soft brown eyes approached us. He held his hands out to me, asking something in a thick accent that I didn’t quite catch.

‘He’s asking you to dance,’ Crowhurst said when I looked at him for translation.

‘Oh no, no, thank you.’ I waved my cane about. ‘I don’t dance.’

The man said something else. Crowhurst rolled his eyes.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘He’s insisting. Go for it, Lora, relax a little. We’re at a wedding.’

I gave a good-natured shrug and passed my cane to Crowhurst. ‘What the hell.’

Curly-locks hands were gentle but firm around my waist as he twirled me to where other couples were dancing. I felt my feet falter and laid a hand on his chest. ‘I'm not that fast.’

He gave me a cheeky smile, but his pace slowed. I closed my eyes as we moved, enjoying the music and the simplicity of the moment. A man’s hands around my waist. Music playing. Being surrounded by laughter. A longing flickered to life inside me. It was tinged with warning, that if I didn’t fulfil this craving for companionship, I'd always be hungry. My eyes flipped open, and my feet stumbled to a stop. Curly-lock’s forehead crinkled. His hands fell from my waist, gentle eyes asking if I was okay. I took a shaky breath and nodded. I was okay. I was okay. Hormones. It was just hormones. Probably.

Curly-locks took my hand and we wove back through the crowds to where Crowhurst was now sitting with Tarn at one of the long tables. Their heads were bowed in deep discussion. I flashed a half-hearted dimple at Curly-locks. ‘Thanks for the dance.’

He returned the smile and wandered off in search for another dance partner. I turned to Nicola, who was sitting next to Tarn. She wore a simple white dress, her blonde hair loose and topped with a garland of daisies. She didn’t notice me at first, her attention on Tarn. But when I sat down next to her, she turned and smiled when she recognised me.

‘Lora! Thank you so much for coming.’ She even managed to sound like she meant it. She looked around the festive street. ‘Isn’t this wonderful? It’s more than I could ever dream of.’

‘Did the ceremony go as planned?’

‘It was perfect.’ Nicola nodded. ‘It was just Tarn, me and his family. It was so beautiful and I'm so happy.’ Her eyes became wistful and I guessed she was thinking about her father. I was surprised Grogan hadn’t tried to stop it or attempt some demonstration of force to show what the Marrok family had bought upon themselves.

Nicola caught my critical face and quickly changed the subject. ‘They’ll be serving the food soon. I can’t wait, I'm starving.’

Rubbing my leg, I wondered if I should blacken the moment and remind her of the danger. ‘Nicola…’ I began. She looked at me, eyes dimming; she knew what I was going to say and I felt like a shit for doing it. But someone had to have their sensible boots on and it seemed, for once, it was me.

‘Have you thought about how you’ll handle your father?’ I asked gently. ‘You were promised to another, after all.’

Nicola waved a hand airily. ‘That was just some sort of business arrangement. Father can work something out. Besides, it’s all too late now. I'm married.’

‘You’re father is an influential man,’ I said. ‘He’s going to want to annul this marriage.’

One of Nicola’s hands absently cradled her belly. ‘He can’t.’

Ohhh shit. The air in my chest expelled in a giant whoosh. ‘You’re pregnant?’

Nicola’s confident façade crumbled and her eyes brimmed with worry. She glanced around, making sure no-one had overheard. ‘It wasn’t planned,’ she whispered.

I touched her arm lightly. ‘You need to leave. Tonight. You need to leave the city and not come back.’

The colour drained from her face. ‘That’s what Tarn said. I told him we didn’t have to, that I could talk to Daddy.’

‘No.’ I put as much force as I could behind the word. ‘Your father will not tolerate this union. He will try to destroy Tarn.’

I broke off as a group of people approached the table, eager to talk to the bride and groom. Tarn beamed at Nicola and began to talk about the ceremony. Nicola gave me a vexed look and whispered, ‘I heard what you said. Let me think about it.’

A cluster of women giggling nearby caught my attention. I spied Gideon with them, dressed in a smart, three-piece suit. Orella was by his side, her weathered face grey and tired. I retrieved my cane and wandered over, giving Gideon a brief wave as he headed over to where the dancers swayed with the music. I stood beside Orella, who pulled a pipe from a pocket and lit it up, smoky tendrils leaking from the corners of her mouth.

‘How are you?’ I asked, watching Gideon dance like he was having some sort of seizure.

Orella sucked on her pipe a few times, expelling. ‘Ready for bed.’

Concern trickled through me. ‘How’s the new shop girl? Giving you a chance to put your feet up more?’