Chaos Bound (30 page)

‘Stop her,’ I shouted at Cloete. She started forward, just as Chai tossed the Sucker Punch and growled out a spell. The draw on power pulled my skin tight. Chai’s voice rose and vibrated, charging with the energy she summoned from the ley-lines. Her words became a physical force, raking the atmosphere with a clawing wind, tugging at my hair. All noise drained from the world, save for a shrieking in my ears.

The Reaper who had me on the ground paused. I rolled, positioning myself behind him and tensed. Chai was channelling too much power and it was going to kill everyone. I opened my mouth to shout a warning, to tell Chai to break the spell before it was too late, but my voice was soundless, my strength drained. Then the world washed white. Pools of gravel rattled, before a pulse shot out from Chai and the spell hit like a shockwave.

The pulse roared over me and the Reaper I huddled against caught the full brunt of the force. His scream only lasted a second before his body slackened. Blackness edged my consciousness as I curled tight, arms around my head while the whirlwind of power scraped my lungs raw and filled my mouth with blood.

A silence settled. After a long moment, I tentatively raised my head over the dead Reaper, smelling charred hair and singed leather. Smoke curled up around me and dust stung my eyes. Sitting up, I saw the blast had scorched the earth in a tidal wave of heat.

The windscreen of Crowhurst’s car was shattered, the tyres melted into puddles of inky rubber. Bodies were sprawled about, limbs mangled and twisted. I got to my feet, legs shaking so much I wasn’t sure if I could stay upright for long. The cut on my cheek burned and my mouth throbbed where Chai had slugged me. I spied Chai at ground zero. Her body was almost unrecognisable, her skin blackened, her broken limbs pulled back at stiff angles. My book of magic was still clutched in one hand, burnt to a small ball. Cloete was lying by the front door, unconscious. Her ears and nose were bleeding, but I saw her chest rise and fall.

Footsteps approached, a crisp crunching sound on the gravel. Out of the smoky devastation, Ivor Grogan appeared. Maya Velkov walked a few steps behind him, waving a hand about and coughing.

‘Quite a mess you’ve made here, Lady Blackgoat,’ Grogan said.

If he was awed by my use of Outland weaponry, he wasn’t showing it. Maya’s eyes shifted to where Chai lay and her face crumbled into ragged lines of grief. She ran to her fallen daughter’s side.

‘My baby.’ She lifted Chai’s bloodied and burnt head, shoulders shaking as she quietly wept. Maybe Maya did feel something in that black heart of hers after all. Watching her grieve, I almost felt pity for her. Almost. I rolled my neck and tried to loosen the wire-tight muscles in my shoulders, my eyes watering from the left-over fumes from Chai’s spell; a toxic mix of sulphur and brimstone.

‘I heard people called you White Death. I thought it was an exaggeration.’ Grogan sounded amused. ‘I also had heard a rumour you used an Outland weapon in The Weald once. Seems you have some interesting talents you’ve been keeping hidden. I've long thought the Witch Hunters had very special abilities that the Grigori weren’t taking full advantage of.’

I spat blood on the ground. ‘Your man Lander discovered my special talents well enough.’

Grogan frowned. ‘A regretful loss.’

‘He died screaming,’ I told him. ‘Just like you will.’

‘I hardly think so.’ Grogan pulled at one of his misshaped ears with a thoughtful expression. ‘Lander was a good man, but he wasn’t particularly bright. He should have known better than to try to inject a Witch Hunter with rapture. It has the same base compound as the Apertor Elixir.’

It took me a moment to process this. Of course, it all made sense; I'd been able to connect to the ley-lines without any medium, exactly the same way I'd been able to when drinking the elixir. Of course, Grogan’s confirmation of the fact raised one big question.

‘How is it you get a supply of the Apertor Elixir?’ I asked. ‘Are you working with the Grigori?’

‘I think you’re confused,’ Grogan said. Footsteps sounded behind me, but I didn’t turn. ‘This isn’t where I reveal my operations to you, my dear. This is the moment where you surrender.’

‘Where is Crowhurst?’ I demanded. I resisted asking after Nicola. The less attention on her at the moment, the better.

Grogan laughed. ‘Your griorwolf friend? He was moved to a place where he can begin his preparations.’

I ran a tongue over my swollen lower lip. ‘Your little sporting arena?’

‘My
profitable
sporting arena,’ Grogan corrected. ‘You’d be surprised what the wealthy patrons of Harken will pay to watch a bizarre monsters fight to the death.’

‘Griorwolves fighting griorwolves.’

‘Not always.’ Grogan shrugged. ‘Harken City is a cesspool of monsters, and my audience demands some variety.’

‘Why torture the griorwolves?’

Grogan’s eyes took on a glint of something I didn’t like, as if he was thinking of what he could do to me. ‘Why not? Who cares about monsters?’

He waited, as if expecting a response. As if he had no idea on why he shouldn’t be hurting and killing other living beings.

‘You’re the monster.’ My insult felt flat. I was pretty sure Grogan didn’t give a shit what I thought.

His eyes shifted to a point beyond my shoulder. ‘Strip her of all her weapons. Then take her to the holding cells.’

I didn’t struggle when the bag fell over my head, or when my belt and gun rig were taken and hands searched my clothes for hidden weapons. Then my hands were bound, and I was thrown over someone’s shoulder like I was livestock going to market.

I tried to keep panic at bay as I was manhandled into the back of a coach. The bag on my head smelled like old potatoes and the cut on my cheek rubbed raw against the rough material. Keeping curled in a ball, I heard the coach wheels crunch on gravel, then smooth out on dirt. When we finally stopped, fear gripped me tight. I'd run over a few scenarios of what Grogan might have in store for me, and they all ended with me dead.

A door hinge squealed, and I was dragged out. With only a shove here and there to guide me, I stumbled over a rough stone path. The surroundings were quiet, and I strained to hear anything that pinpointed where we were. My foot hit a step and I took them slow, but lost my footing and fell. My knees jarred against a hard floor and agony ripped through my bad leg. Hands pulled me back up, then the bag was removed and my hands freed.

Blinking, I saw we were in a dim room with stone walls and no windows. A sarcophagus sat in the centre and an unlit gas lamp hung in one corner. A glance back revealed I had two guards: Reapers with cloth hats and grim-faces. Beyond them, I spied a landscape littered with gravestones. Fear shivered through me as I realised we were in a crypt at the cemetery, outside the city walls. Being dragged here was not inspiring any confidence in me that I was going to survive the night.

One of the Reapers took down the gas lamp, clicked it on and a warm orange flame sprung to life, chasing away the shadows. Writing carved into the wall showed me the family name of the crypt, and my mouth dropped.

The Corelli family. As in, Lord Mayor Corelli.

‘Why are we here?’ I asked the Reaper with the gas lamp.

The Reaper behind me spoke. ‘Don’t bother asking him any questions.’ I glanced back at him with a questioning look. ‘He don’t talk.’

‘Strong silent type?’

‘Nah. Boss cut out his tongue five years back.’

I grimaced. ‘Oh.’

The silent Reaper pushed on the far wall and a door swung open, revealing a descending staircase. The guard behind me pushed my shoulder and I walked towards the beckoning darkness.

Stepping down, I slid my hand along the slimy stone walls to keep myself steady. By the time we reached the gloomy bottom, I was in the full grip of claustrophobia. I didn’t mind the dark if I was hiding or skulking or thieving, but as a prisoner? Not so much. The cold in the dark room chilled my sweaty skin. I tried to control my breathing. Tried not to think of the layers of dirt above my head. Tried not to compare it to a grave.

The chatty Reaper called out from behind me. ‘Kebble?’

A door opened at the far end, spilling light and a man emerged from a small room, holding a lantern.

The room we’d entered was long with a low ceiling and damp, rough stone walls. Cells lined one side and while they looked empty, there were too many shadows about to be sure.

‘Who’s that?’ The man approached, lantern raised. He was short with a bad comb-over and a lazy right eye. His clothes had a priestly flare, with white robes that flowed to his ankles. A mass of keys hung from a ring attached to his gold-cord belt.

‘The boss sent a new player,’ Mr Chatty said.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ I wheezed.

Comb-over’s fingers fluttered over his hair, as though I'd just called him out on being bald. ‘My, my. Someone’s got a coarse tongue. You may call me Master Kebble.’

‘Okay, Master Kebble. Who the fuck are you?’

The silent Reaper cuffed me, the blow bouncing my head off the nearby wall. My vision wobbled and I nearly dropped to the ground.

‘Don’t bruise the stock, please. She’s in bad shape as it is.’ Kebble’s eyes moved over my body in an appraising way. ‘White hair. What breed is that, again? From the southern region?’ He put the lantern near my face. ‘Hmm? What are you, girl?’

‘Witch Hunter.’ I gave him a nasty grin.

Kebble’s eyes widened. ‘My, my.’

‘She’ll go on instead of the dryad,’ Mr Chatty said. ‘The boss also wants a sample.’

Kebble placed his lantern on the ground with a long-suffering sigh. ‘You’d better hold her then.’

The silent Reaper moved fast, looping a hand around my neck and bracing one of my arms in a tight elbow lock. My body arched and I flinched when Mr Chatty rolled up my sleeve. I had half a thought to struggle, but the hold was uncompromising, and my body was already too battered to resist. Kebble pulled a syringe from a pocket and leaned down, searching for a vein. Finding one to his liking, he inserted the syringe and I hissed at the needle’s bite, though more from fear than pain. My blood was the key to chaos power, so I was pretty worried what they were going to use it for. While I was pretty sure no-one knew what I was, or had a random copy of the Aldebaran, I wasn’t sure what anarchy could be unleashed if my blood was used in a spell.

The pinching sensation stopped and Kebble straightened. ‘There. All done. Put her in the second cell on the right.’

Released from the hold, I rubbed my arm as I was herded into a cell, the door locking behind me. A quick glance showed me the cell was empty, save for a pile of ratty blankets in one corner. Turning, I saw Kebble looking at me with a worried expression.

‘You do realise the Grigori will have Regulators looking for me,’ I told him.

‘Don’t listen to her,’ Mr Chatty said. Kebble passed him the syringe, and the two Reapers headed for the stairs. Kebble followed.

‘Why don’t you let me go?’ I called out. ‘I'll make sure the Grigori pardon you for your crimes.’

Kebble hesitated at the base of the staircase. ‘I fear my master more than I fear yours, Witch Hunter.’ Then he was gone, the light going with him. The darkness in the room pressed down on me and anxiety squeezed my breath.

A rustle of cloth came from the next cell over and a small brownish light popped into existence. Its murky glow illuminated a man with a willowy build and long, grey hair.

‘You’re not a griorwolf,’ I said.

He smiled, skin creasing. ‘I am Elijah.’

‘I'm looking for a friend of mine. A griorwolf. Has he been in here?’

‘They keep the beasts further underground,’ he said. ‘I would not hold much hope for your friend, Witch Hunter.’

‘Do you have salt?’ I eyed the bubble of brown light.

‘I have something,’ Elijah explained. ‘Enough for a few simple spells, nothing more.’

I stepped closer to the bars, squinting at him. ‘What race are you?’

‘I am dryad.’

‘That’s a tree spirit, right? I've never seen a dryad before.’

‘You’d be hard pressed to find a dryad within Harken.’ Elijah gave a tired chuckle. ‘Not much room for us within the city walls.’

‘I'm not really a Witch Hunter, you know.’ I touched my hurt lip and winced. I really needed ice. Preferably in a glass of vodka.

‘Pity,’ Elijah said. ‘They said you are taking my place. I am sorry for that.’

‘Do you know what’s going on? What this place is all about?’ I asked.

‘Nothing that will end well for either of us, of that I am certain. There was another in here, a few days ago. A goblin. He said he heard from a guard that we could fight for our freedom.’ He lifted a shoulder, then let it drop. ‘He did not come back.’

My hands curled around the cell bars. ‘I'm sure he fought bravely.’

‘I'm sure he did. I certainly have no skills as a fighter, so I will simply say my final prays when they come for me.’

‘I'll take any prayers you want to throw my way.’

‘Can you fight?’ Elijah asked.

‘Better than most.’ I tried to sound sincere, which was hard, seeing my face was all bloody and bruised. ‘I've been in tricker spots.’

I was going to be damned to The Pit for being a dirty liar, but Elijah looked like he could do with some reassurance. He stepped towards me, one slender hand slipping into the folds of his clothes and indicated he wanted to give me something. I stuck my hand through the bars, palm up and he reached out, a teaspoon of dirt trickling into my palm.

‘Perhaps you will have enough luck for both of us,’ Elijah said.

‘Not sure how much luck dirt’s going to give me.’

‘Dirt from a tree spirit is considered a blessing.’

‘Good enough.’ I pocketed the dirt and tried to feel blessed. The hovering ball of light dimmed as the spell wore thin. ‘Don’t worry. I'll think of a plan,’ I told him. ‘I usually do.’

Elijah retreated and sat back against the stone wall, closing his eyes. ‘You should rest now. You’ll need your strength soon enough.’

Then the ball extinguished with a pop, I was in darkness once again. Fingers outstretched, I inched along until I found the cold-slicked wall of the cell. Gingerly easing myself down, I stretched my legs out and closed my eyes, fatigue falling over me in a crashing wave.