Chaos Bound (7 page)

My eyebrows knitted. ‘What does the esteemed Grigori Fowler want?’

‘I'm under the impression he wants to have a conversation.’ Roman smiled. ‘Nothing more sinister than that.’

‘Huh.’ I put my hands on my hips. ‘He thinks I should drop everything when he clicks his fingers and come running? I'm a busy woman, you know.’

‘Did you have plans?’

‘Well… No.’

‘Will you come with me?’

‘I haven’t decided.’

‘You will be paid for your time.’

‘I'll get my cane.’

Our trip was made in a civilian rental coach with redwood panelling, pulled by a tame-looking mare. Roman sat opposite me, the cabin space small enough that our knees touched. His closeness made my heart beat faster than I'd like, and I pulled my window open, trying to distract myself by enjoying the warm afternoon air. Roman passed the trip in silence, and I was grateful. Roman knew I was nephilim, but I wasn’t sure if he was aware Fowler also knew. It worried me Fowler wanted to talk. As far as I was concerned, there was nothing to discuss, but The Pit would freeze over before I turned down money for a simple conversation.

As we drew closer to the Order of Guides' compound, my fingers ran nervously over the charm around my neck. Even with replacing the original charm and concealment spell after it broke, slivers of ebony had streaked my hair lately. I wondered if perhaps the charm wasn’t enough anymore. Maybe once your true nature was revealed, it became irrepressible. Like trying to unring a bell.

Roman’s dark eyes fixed on my charm. Feeling exposed, I tucked it underneath my shirt and pretended to be fascinated by my nails.

The Order’s tall granite walls rose beyond the murky Harken River, across a narrow stone bridge. I wound up my window against the stench of the water, but the smell stayed with us until we were nodded through the compound doors by heavily armed guards. I'd been inside the compound of the Order a few times now, and none of the memories were particularly pleasant.

The coach came to a stop and Roman opened the door, helping me out. The entry courtyard held no gardens or finery, save for a small limestone fountain at the centre. The surrounding grey buildings looked familiar and suitably grim, edged with long panelled windows and a sense of foreboding.

‘Regulator Roman?’ A round-faced monk hurried up to us, face glowing pink from exertion. ‘There you are, Regulator,’ he gasped. ‘I've been looking for you everywhere.’

Roman tensed. ‘What is it?’

‘Some of…your students…are fighting,’ the monk managed to gasp out. He bent over, trying to catch his breath. ‘There seems to be a disagreement.’

‘So? Tell them to stop.’ Roman’s voice rose.

The monk straightened with a pained look. ‘They have swords, Regulator.’

Roman cursed and the monk winced. Roman glanced at me. ‘I'll be right back.’

‘I won’t move an inch.’ I gave him a mock salute. Roman had students? Since when? What exactly was he teaching? As I watched him hurry off, I wondered why he hadn’t mentioned anything before.

After a short time passed, I felt bored and exposed, especially after the rented coach had rumbled back to the city. My feet wandered into one of the deserted colonnades alongside the nearby building. Keeping my cane tapping as quiet as I could on the slate floor, I admired the finely manicured hedges and herb gardens that spread across the open-air courtyards. I was considering heading back when something flickered in the corner of my eye.

A Regulator moved out from a darkened doorway and I stumbled back. His black eyes and facial tattoos told me he was nephilim, while his expression suggested I was in big trouble.

‘You must be the Lady Blackgoat,’ he said gravely. ‘You don’t look like nephilim. You look like a Witch Hunter.’ His nostrils flared. I knew he was trying to scent me; I'd seen Roman do it. ‘You don’t smell like nephilim. But you don’t really smell like a Witch Hunter either.’

‘Who told you I was nephilim?’ I asked.

A stiff smile played on his lips, like he was out of practice. He tapped his nose. ‘A little bird.’

‘Believe what you want. I don’t care.’ I shifted my feet, eyes darting to possible escape routes. Considering the nephilim was able-bodied, and I had a cane, my options seemed limited. His eyes dropped to my hands, which were inching towards my salt pouch. He frowned, then thrust a hand out. ‘My name is Locan.’

I hesitated before taking his hand, shaking it once before pulling away. ‘Well met, Locan. If you’ll excuse me, I'm here on business.’

‘Are you here visiting someone? I've been told you belong to Regulator Roman. Perhaps you are looking for him?’

I blinked a few times at his words. ‘You’re mistaken. I don’t belong to anyone.’

‘Oh?’

The little exclamation implied something, but I wasn’t sure what. I turned to head back to where Roman had left me.

Locan moved to block my path, the smile gone. ‘You frightened of me, little kitty?’

‘Get out of my way.’

‘Does it not frighten you to know that there are many males here who would see you as an interesting prize?’ His gaze slid over my hips. ‘Even if you’re a little on the plump side.’

‘Who are you calling plump?’ I raised my voice. ‘I'll let you in on a secret: this little kitty has some big fucking claws.’ I flicked a thumb against the carved goat-head of my cane, revealing an inch of steel. ‘You’re going see them, if you don’t get out of my way.’

Locan held his hands up, as if he had no choice but to move. I wasn’t fooled. This was about him taking notes for the next time we met. ‘Free pass this time, kitty,’ he said. ‘But since you say you don’t belong to Roman, be warned: others might consider you fair game.’

I tensed as he walked around me and down the colonnade, grey cloak swaying. My nerves sang a high tune, jaw aching from clenching my teeth. When the nephilim was out of sight, I blew out a long, relieved breath.

Mental fucking nephilim.

I'd have to be insane to think about getting involved with one of them. But Roman seemed different. He wasn’t anything like the monsters I associated with his kind. His kind. My kind. Sheesh. I hurried back, anxious to return before Roman realised I'd gone.

As I rounded a corner, strong hands gripped my arm from behind. I pinched salt, expecting Locan’s stiff smile. I was ready to shower the bastard with a world of hurt, when my ears were blasted with an angry curse.

‘Where did you go?’ Roman crowded my personal space.

‘Stretching my legs.’ I twisted out of his hold.

Roman relaxed, then looked around. ‘Everyone is supposed to be at prayers, but I thought I heard voices. Who were you talking to?’

‘If you must know, some nephilim by the name of Locan.’ I arched an eyebrow. ‘He said that I belong to you. Don’t suppose you know anything about that?’

Roman rubbed the back of his neck in an awkward gesture. ‘I might have given that impression.’

‘Uh huh.’

‘Only for your safety. Rumours are spreading about what you are, and I thought it would be better they think you are…taken.’

‘I see.’

‘Do you?’

‘Sure. Apparently I'm a taken woman now.’

‘You’re angry.’

‘Why would I be angry? Just because you think I'm too weak to stand on my own. Why would I get angry about that?’

‘I'm sorry.’

I limped away. ‘Just take me to Fowler’s office. I don’t want to stay here a moment longer than I have to.’

Roman said nothing more as he led me into an administration building and up a staircase. On the second floor, we exited into a long corridor lined with closed doors and brass name plaques. We stopped at one, and Roman rapped his knuckles against the solid wood. A reply came and Roman opened the door, gesturing for me to enter. I took a breath, knowing this was bad idea, but at least Roman had my back. After all, he’d helped me in the past and that got him a lot of brownie points. Even if he was spreading dubious rumours about me belonging to him.

Roman gave me a reassuring look. I found myself half smiling back, but it dropped when I recalled that Roman was probably the 'little bird' who had told Locan I was nephilim in the first place. I looked away and stepped inside the room.

Grigori Fowler’s office was starkly devoid of any finery. The floor was bare, the furniture simple, and an incense bowl sat on a window sill. The only real decoration was a framed watercolour on the wall: a landscape painted in weary greys. Fowler sat behind the desk, scribbling with a fountain pen. He put it down as I entered and rose to his feet. He was tall, with a pallid complexion and sunken features save for a prominent aquiline nose, silver hair brushed back and eyes shining bright over a razor-sharp smile.

‘Lady Blackgoat.’ He walked around his desk to take my hand, dark robes brushing the floor. His skin was cold and rough, making me think of a loose animal hide. ‘Thank you so much for accepting my invitation. On such short notice, as well.’

‘Happy to oblige.’ I tried to shrug off my nerves.

‘Please, take a seat.’ Fowler indicated an uncomfortable wooden chair in front of his desk. I sat, cane between my legs. Fowler returned behind his desk, when he noticed Roman still in the doorway. Surprise flittered across his face. ‘Regulator. Thank you for escorting Lady Blackgoat safely here. You can wait outside now.’

The door clicked shut behind me, and Fowler’s face smoothed out. He sat down, thin lips pressed together like he wasn’t happy about something. I wondered if he had only just realised I was a bad influence on Roman.

I got straight to the point. ‘What do you want?’

‘No polite conversation first, then?’ Fowler sighed. ‘I remember that of you at our first meeting.’

‘If you want to sit here and talk about the weather, we can. It’s your coin.’

‘Fine, Lady Blackgoat,’ he paused. ‘May I call you Lora?’

‘No.’

He gave a cool chuckle. ‘We shall keep things formal, then.’ He steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘I want to try to convince you to join the Order of Guides, Lora. I'm sure that once you get past our cultural differences, you’d discover we aren’t so different.’

My hip complained at the hard seat and I shifted. ‘Last I remember, one of your own used my blood to wreak chaos in the city.’

Fowler nodded. ‘If you recall, I had no part in that. Neither did the Order.’

‘No. A member of the Brotherhood of the Red Hand, did. A group you’re a member of.’

‘I have retreated from active duty in the Brotherhood of the Red Hand.’ Fowler paused, then added, ‘I discovered we did not seem to have the same goals.’

‘I didn’t think your precious Red Hand was the sort of organisation you could retire from.’

‘It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with. The Brotherhood of the Red Hand is an old, secret organisation within the Order, Lora —’

‘Lady Blackgoat.’

‘— and their opportunity for greatness has passed. It is now populated by elderly men who are more concerned with their status in life than the greater good. They won’t be bothering you again.’

‘Why is that?’ I asked suspiciously.

Fowler’s cold eyes met mine. ‘Because I told them not to, and my will is the word they follow.’

A chill blew down my spine. I wasn’t sure what kind of role Fowler played within the Brotherhood of the Red Hand, nor how powerful they really were. I'd only met one other of their own, and that acquaintance had ended with me killing him.

‘I won’t deny you intrigue me, Lady Blackgoat. The blood you have in your veins may be more valuable than any amount of coin.’ Fowler tapped his fingertips together. ‘With the right key, of course.’

‘The Key of Aldebaran was destroyed.’ My voice was flat. I guess I knew this conversation was inevitable, but my patience was starting to wear thin.

‘There will always be others,’ Fowler said smoothly.

I thought of Seth’s offer, and wondered if he was still going to come through with the meeting with his collector friend. Whatever the owner of the book wanted, I'd find the money to buy it. I was going to destroy all those damned books, even if it ruined me.

‘If you joined our ranks, you could easily keep up the illusion of being a Witch Hunter. We could create a cover story as to why you’ve come to work with us, something that would help you save face within your community. Together, we could test your strengths and weaknesses. I know about nephilim nature. I could help you. Teach you.’

‘No.’ The word flew from my lips almost before Fowler had finished talking.

He lowered his hands to the table, as if he’d expected my answer. ‘I would simply ask that you think about it.’

‘No.’

Fowler’s features pulled into a mask of displeasure. ‘I can help you, Lora, as you change.’

My shoulders pulled tight. ‘I don’t plan on changing.’

His eyes flicked to my hair. ‘You may have no choice in the matter.’

I swallowed a few times, my hands tucking into my armpits. ‘I'm going to stay the same person I was, before all this started.’

Fowler nodded, as if he sympathised. ‘I understand your reluctance. After all, you were raised to view the Order as the enemy. Just promise me you’ll think on my offer. The day may come when you need a powerful friend.’ His lips stretched wide. ‘And this is me, extending the hand of friendship. You would be wise not to slap it away.’

‘I'll give it some thought,’ I said with as much politeness I could muster. I figured if I didn’t at least pretend to consider the offer, Fowlers next move might be to trot out threats. You won’t co-operate? How about a night on one of our racks? Or some acupuncture in our Iron Maiden? We have the best views from our prisons and the rats are very friendly.

Fowler stood. ‘I respect your decision.’

I got to my feet also, unsure what tack he was taking. Smother me with kindness, before driving the knife in my back? Fowler escorted me to the door, hand pausing on the handle.

‘Before you go, a word of warning. It is inevitable that the nephilim here will learn of your existence, if they haven’t already.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I would strongly advise against entertaining thoughts of friendship. Nephilim are trained to forsake their feelings at a very young age. Left unchecked, they are prone to emotional outbursts and violent tempers.’