Chaos Bound (31 page)

‘Did you bring him?’

Sariel was pointing an accusing finger at the green monkey. We were standing outside my dream hut, both of us staring at the newcomer. The primate swung quietly from a tree branch, cigar tucked into the corner of his mouth, bowler hat tipped forward.

I eyed the monkey suspiciously. ‘I've seen him before, but I don’t know where he comes from.’

The green monkey let go of the branch and landed on the ground, one hand clutching his hat. He took the cigar out of his mouth and waggled it at me. ‘I'm a construct of your subconscious mind. You brought me here.’

Sariel glared at me. ‘You did this?’

The green monkey stuck the cigar back in his mouth and puffed away. ‘She’s just beginning to realise these are her dreams you’re hijacking, so she’s called in reinforcements.’

My hands tucked into my armpits. ‘I did?’

‘Uh huh,’ the monkey said.

Sariel and I both stared at the green primate, waiting for something more. Finally, I dropped my arms. ‘Are you going to do anything else but smoke that cigar?’

The monkey took the end out of his mouth and squinted at it. ‘It is a very good cigar. Worth finishing.’

‘This is ridiculous,’ Sariel snapped. ‘I have every right to be here.’

‘I don’t think you do,’ I said. A wind rustled the trees around us and I caught a metallic scent on the breeze. ‘I'm sick to death of talk about blood and power.’

‘Isn’t it in human nature to crave it?’ Sariel’s voice took on a desperate tone I'd never heard before. ‘Don’t you despise being powerless? You are being offered something others would kill for, but you keep rejecting it. You think you’re not strong enough. You’re wrong. You have people offering to help you. Take it.’

The wind picked up, and trees whispering grew louder around us. ‘He craves prayers. He desires followers of his own,’ the green monkey said.

‘Be silent,’ Sariel snapped.

‘He wants worshippers to grant him power, through you witnessing his power.’

‘Stop that thing from talking, Lora. Or I won’t be responsible for what I do to it.’

The monkey’s voice dropped to a murmur. ‘He is an Unclean One and he desires to ascend to godhood.’

Sariel moved towards the monkey. ‘You stupid —’

‘I've heard enough,’ I said.

The monkey launched in the air with a screech and slammed onto Sariel’s back. He shoved his smoking cigar down the back of Sariel’s suit and began to box the angel’s ears. Sariel bellowed, wrestling with the monkey, dark wings swinging. I turned away with a smile. I knew there was a good reason I brought the monkey.

I woke from my doze with a start. In the darkness, it took me a few moments to orientate myself and remember where I was. When it crashed back to me, I bit out a curse. Soft snores came from Elijah’s cell, but otherwise all was silent. My hands and feet were freezing. I tried to stand, then realised the chilly floor had rendered my legs numb. Grunting, I pushed myself up and bent at the waist, stretching out my hip. The swelling in my lip had gone down, the cut now just a dull, raw pain. I had no way of knowing the time, but instinct told me it wouldn’t be long before someone came for me, and I didn’t relish the idea of falling on my face because I had numb feet.

As if my thoughts had made it so, footsteps sounded, and a light appeared on the staircase. Elijah’s snoring stopped. Two Reapers I'd not seen before appeared, one holding a lantern. I squinted against the light, eyes stinging. They approached my cell, unlocking the door and iron shackles were held out to me expectantly. Seeing no other alternative, I shuffled forward, wincing at the pins and needles in my legs, my leg-brace rubbing stiffly against my skin. The shackles were snapped around my wrists, the metal cold and heavy.

I wanted to ask what Grogan had planned for me, but I kept my mouth shut, doubting I'd like their answers.

Instead of going back up the staircase, I was herded to the other end of the room, and through a cramped antechamber. A small desk sat against one wall, piled with thick ledgers. An archway sat at the other end, and beyond that, a tunnel lit with small lanterns.

‘Move.’

No shove accompanied the command, but I stepped forward regardless. What choice did I have? I entered the tunnel and shuffled along, my joints stiff. The tunnel sloped downwards and the air grew cold and musty.

The path levelled out and, after a final corner, I saw an opening blazing with light. Stumbling to a stop just before the end of the tunnel, my ears caught the muffled noise of a large crowd.

The Reapers grabbed my arms and propelled me forward. We stepped from the tunnel and into a cavernous room with walls decorated in coloured tiles, and glass lanterns hanging from chain loops overhead.

A massive cage sat in the centre, with heavy black iron bars. Metal thorns and spikes jutted out from the bars inside the cage, looking ready to skewer their next victim. On top of the structure, a sculpture of a silver dragon sat curled around itself, eyes closed as if asleep. One of the cage’s doors yawned open directly ahead, looking like a hungry beast’s mouth, patiently waiting for its sacrifice.

Around the room, a crowd sat tiered against the walls and a low buzz of conversation floated down. The audience wore expensive hats and finely cut clothes, but their eyes had the hard stare of people who had little use for mercy. Servants of both sexes flittered around, wearing nothing more than silk knotted at their waists as they served wine and what smelled like roast chestnuts. Reapers mingled through the audience, handing out pieces of paper that I guessed were betting slips.

A smattering of applause sounded when I stepped out. The Reapers escorted me to the cage and pushed me in. I stumbled, nearly falling, and laughter echoed around the room. I held my head high and threw out a defiant look. The laughter died, and the murmuring resumed once people realised I wasn’t going to collapse in hysterics.

The wooden floor of the cage was stained with old blood and I spied a tooth resting near my foot. I kicked it away with a shudder. Lifting my eyes, I checked out my audience, wondering what kind of damaged citizens wanted to watch people tear each other apart.

A platform sat high among the audience, affording the best view. Elmore Deckkart sat at its centre, in a high-backed chair, Grogan on his left. The fact that Mayor Corelli sat on his other side didn’t surprise me, but I nearly did a double take when I recognised the person beside him.

Seth.

Anger blasted through me, shrivelling my fear. Seth’s eyes were on me, his face stony. From the set of his shoulders, I knew he’d just received the same nasty shock I had. I didn’t think he’d set me up, but whatever game he was playing, I hoped he had an ace up his sleeve.

I spied Maya Velkov behind Grogan and the succubus stared down at me with vicious delight. Nicola sat beside her, wearing a severe-looking black dress and a stony expression. Her eye makeup had run with her tears, tracking dark lines down her cheeks. When our eyes met, she gave me the briefest of nods, like she was trying to tell me something. Deckkart twisted in his chair to say something to her and she glanced away from him.

Kebble appeared on the platform, walking to the edge. His comb-over was hidden under a wreath of spring flowers and a heavy gold amulet hung around his neck. He spread his arms in a welcoming gesture and the room fell silent.

‘We meet again, weary travellers,’ he said, voice booming. ‘You are all welcome tonight, with great thanks to the host of the Silver Dragon, our dear Lord Mayor.’ Polite clapping sounded, and Corelli gave a small, pleased nod. My eyes narrowed. That dirty fat fuck Mayor was a dead man walking.

Kebble lowered his voice to a dramatic stage whisper. ‘Tonight, we have a special treat for you all. Something never seen before. A Witch Hunter, plucked from the very ranks of the Order of Guides.’

A wave of excited chatter swelled around me. Kebble raised his voice. ‘A Witch Hunter who thinks herself above the laws of the city. Responsible for a heinous act against our own Mayor’s family, she is a multiple murderer, a drunk, and a filthy harlot.’ Kebble looked down on me. ‘We all look forward to what other talents you have to show us, Lady Blackgoat.’

I flipped him the finger. ‘Eat shit and die, pencil-dick.’

Laughter sounded and Kebble’s smile dropped, his lazy eye twitching. ‘Bring in the beast.’

Reapers approached the cage, dragging a man between them. They unlocked a cage door and threw him in. I recognised the ruby earring and blond hair immediately.

‘Reuben.’ I limped towards him. ‘You all right?’

Crowhurst staggered to his feet. He held up a warning hand. ‘Keep away.’

I stopped, seeing his face caked in blood. He tried to move again, but his legs wobbled and gave way. I surged forward to grab him.

‘They injected me,’ he rasped. ‘I can’t stop the change.’

My bad leg shuddered under his weight. ‘Try to fight it, Reuben.’

He made a choking sound that sounded like a laugh and pulled away. Panic’s icy fingers gripped me.

‘So change,’ I said. ‘Break these bars, and let’s get out of here.’

I realised Kebble was talking, his voice a low droning in my ears. I tuned him in, and heard him commentating the action, like some sort of Greek chorus.

‘The heroine realises her predicament. A friend who, before our eyes, is now changing into a bloodthirsty beast. The Witch Hunter finds herself without weapons, without any elixir. What is she to do? What shall her fate be? What this fair damsel in distress needs is —’

Kebble paused. I raised my eyes to Seth, silently begging for help, but he was busy whispering into the ear of a Reaper. This was bad, bad, bad. I was so busy cursing in my head, I almost missed what Kebble announced next.

‘— a hero to save her.’

One of the cage doors creaked open behind me. I turned, hands curled into fists. A bare-chested man was pushed through the opening. His head was bowed, his chest covered in bruises and his bare feet bloody. A Reaper stood behind him, holding a chain that connected to a collar cuffed around the prisoner’s neck. Another Reaper entered the cage, a wheellock in each hand. One pointed at Crowhurst, the other at my head. The chained man fell to his hands and knees, back heaving. Then he looked up at me and my world bottomed out.

Roman.

Bracing my bad leg with a hand, I moved towards him, but the Reaper with the wheellock warned me off and I stopped. Roman was breathing hard and sweat dripped from his body, dropping onto the floor in large drops.

Kebble’s voice boomed above me. ‘Behold. A would-be hero. A nephilim at the tipping point of the berserker rage, his life now worthless to the Order.’

‘Grogan, you arrogant prick,’ I shouted up at the platform. ‘I'm going to give you one chance to make this right.’ A tremor in my voice gave away my fear. Kebble smirked and Grogan looked bored, like he’d heard every flavour of pleading there was.

Chains clinked behind me. I turned to see the Reaper with the chain step in close to his prisoner. His hand darted towards Roman’s neck, and too late I saw the hypodermic syringe full of rusty coloured liquid. Before I could cry out, the needle sank into Roman’s neck, and the plunger pressed home.

‘Ladies and gentleman.’ Kebble’s voice echoed around us. ‘Something never witnessed before. A nephilim, soon to be pushed to a new, higher consciousness. Monster fighting monster. Will our heroine be saved? Or will the two mad beasts turn against her?’

Crowhurst was huddled against the bars, shoulders pressed up between a line of vicious spikes, his arms wrapped around himself. I calculated how things would go if I attacked the two Reapers with the dirt Elijah had given me. It didn’t play out too well.

‘The Regulator has been injected with your blood, Lora.’ Grogan called down to me, his voice gloating. ‘Rapture, mixed with the purest essence of a Witch Hunter.’ He leant forward, eyes gleaming. ‘What do you think will happen?’

I stared up at Grogan in horror. Who knew what my blood would do inside another person, mixed with properties that could connect to the ley-lines?

‘The hero,’ Kebble was saying. ‘A nephilim, wrestling with his own dark desires, struggling with his true nature. Will he kill the woman before battling with the wolf beast? Or will he recognise her, despite his rage, and spare her life?’

Roman’s collar was removed and the two Reapers backed out of the cage, locking it behind them.

‘Lora?’ Roman’s voice was a hoarse whisper.

Hobbling over, I winced as I knelt down in front of him, wrapping my arms around his trembling body, feeling his skin radiate a scorching heat.

‘I'm slipping.’ His voice was weak, muffled against my neck.

‘I'll think of something,’ I said, but I had no plan. I didn’t think for a second either Roman or Crowhurst were going to let me choke them to unconsciousness.

‘Get away from me.’ Roman’s voice was stronger. He raised his hands and shoved my shoulders. I saw desperation brimming in his fevered eyes. ‘You have to get away.’

‘There’s nowhere to go,’ I said sadly. I pushed myself to my feet and limped over to Crowhurst. He’d fallen to his side, battered body jerking as the change took him. Audience members called out suggestions on what I should do next and I blocked out their decidedly unhelpful advice.

Crowhurst looked up when my shadow fell over him. His eyes were alien, a beast staring out. Froth covered his lips as he snarled, showing sharp, elongated fangs. In a flurry of limbs, he was suddenly on his feet, shoulders growing with muscle, tearing his shirt. The crowd gasped and cheered as his face elongated and reddish-black fur sprouted along his skin. His bones broke and ground against each other as his body ripped him screaming into the shape of his beast. I'd seen Crowhurst as a griorwolf once before, but he looked different this time. His muscle was distorted and lumpy, and his limbs hung crooked. His lopsided body was covered in ragged fur and wild eyes flared with bloodlust.

He tilted his head up and gave a mournful howl. The crowd fell silent. When the eerie sound died, Crowhurst lowered his head and bared his teeth at me in a growl, his breath a rancid hot wave. The crowd began to chant, but I couldn’t make out the words to know who they were rooting for. All I could think was to stand very still and try not to look like dinner.