Chaos Bound

by Rebekah Turner

  ‘How do things look to you tonight?’ he whispered.

  ‘Just fine.’ I kept my answers short, hoping he’d leave me alone. For the billionth time, I wished I'd been in a position to be as fussy as Cloete about what jobs I took. The otherkin’s face stuck in my mind’s eye and I shoved it aside with difficulty. I'd searched for Cloete that morning, before my shift at the theatre, but she hadn’t been at her home, Blackgoat Watch, or even at Growlers. I had to find her, and fast. I wanted to hear the betrayal from her own lips, that she was leaving Blackgoat Watch to join the Sisters of No Mercy. I knew family could be complicated; being the bastard child of an angel had given me some perspective. But I had thought Cloete had seen Blackgoat as her family, not the viper that was her mother. I also needed to check if Gideon knew about Maya Velkov’s attempt to run him out of business.

  Stonehouse’s eyes moved over the crowd. ‘Anyone look suspicious to you?’

  ‘Everyone looks suspicious here.’ I shifted my weight from my bad leg, leaning on my cane.

  He grunted. ‘You’ll remember to take Nicola home directly after the show?’

  ‘I know the schedule.’

  ‘Good, good. Your man is out the back?’

  I nodded with a small smile. Crowhurst was the secondary on the job. He was a former jack-of-all-trades who Gideon had initially hired to keep an eye on me. We’d since worked out that little misunderstanding just fine. I didn’t need my own bodyguard, and if we were being honest, Crowhurst didn’t want that job. He was a competitive, egotistical jerk with high ambitions. Which made it all the more satisfying when he was the secondary on this job, and I got to order him around.

  Right now, Crowhurst was out in the alley behind the theatre, sitting in the driver’s seat of Nicola’s personal coach. When I'd told him on the first night he’d have to wait outside while Nicola was onstage, he’d almost pouted. Serves the little pervert right.

  ‘Fine then, just fine. Carry on, then.’ Stonehouse made a few noises in his throat, then waddled into the backstage area.

  The sound of scattered applause drew my attention back to the stage. The lights dimmed and the next play was being set up. Nicola floated towards me, eyes sparkling.

  ‘What did you think?’ Her voice was breathless. ‘Was that better than last night? I added in a few extra lines, did you notice? I thought it fleshed my character out more.’

  I murmured something non-committal and tried to look generally supportive, punctuated with a thumbs-up.

  ‘You’re so funny.’ Nicola laughed lightly and breezed by me, heading for her dressing room. Stepping close behind her, I kept a close eye on the stagehands running around us.

  We entered a short corridor. A couple of invitations were shouted to Nicola from behind me, but I kept ushering her forward until we were inside her dressing room with the door shut and the bolt drawn. I didn’t want to take any chances. While I hadn’t come across any problems yet, the job had an undertone that didn’t sit right with me. Nicola had rolled her eyes when I quizzed her about why she needed protection, and Stonehouse just started sweating before excusing himself. Something was making me feel queasy about this gig, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t the fried dumplings I'd eaten for lunch.

  The dressing room was a generous size, with draped damask curtains and ornately carved wooden furniture. On every surface, juicy red roses were clumped in vases, clogging the air with their sweet, fruity aroma. Ointment jars in bright purple and ruby-red glass cluttered a vanity table with a large mirror, and beside it, a washbasin sat on a dresser, brimming with scented water. To the far right, a trunk was pushed against the wall, its lid gaping open and fringed silk shawls slung carelessly over it.

  Nicola flumped down at the vanity table, picking up one of the ointment jars. ‘Did you really not like my performance?’ She unscrewed the lid and smeared cream over her face and neck.

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘I thought lesbians were quite fond of my plays. I played the role of one once. The play was called She Said, She Said. It was very popular.’

  I cocked an eyebrow. ‘Sorry. What?’

  She giggled. ‘You don’t have to be shy. Those shoes are a dead giveaway.’

  Bemused, I opened my mouth to argue, then remembered I didn’t care what she thought. Maybe I did like women. I did, however, feel insulted for lesbians. My black tanker boots were more practical than anything else, with a six-inch retractable blade in the toe.

  ‘I wasn’t watching the performance. I watch everything else,’ I told her. ‘You know, my job.’

  ‘I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.’ Nicola turned back to the mirror with a mischievous smile, wiping the ointment from her face with a cloth. ‘It’s just your clothes look very masculine.’ In the mirror, her eyes dropped to my waist. ‘And that belt is hideous. So bulky. It doesn’t flatter your hips, you know.’

  My fingers twitched, itching to draw salt on her. I was dressed for comfort today and had forgone a corset in favour of a shapeless coco-coloured shirt and black jeans. ‘I'll have you know, this belt has saved my life more than once.’

  ‘What’s in it?’

  ‘Salt, charms, a knife,’ I told her. ‘A garrotte with pretty handles. You know, everything a girl needs for a wild night out.’

  Nicola rolled her eyes. ‘You’re so funny.’ She peered closer at her reflection, frowning. ‘I look so tired. I'm going to look wretched on my birthday. I might ask the manager if my understudy can step in for a bit, to give me time to rest before the party.’

  I gritted my teeth and closed my eyes. If I had to hear about her bloody upcoming party one more time, Gideon was going to have to hire someone to protect her from me.

  ‘Daddy said the mimes called this morning to cancel,’ Nicola was saying. ‘I ask you, what kind of party will it be without mimes?’

  ‘Better?’

  I opened my eyes in time to see Nicola poke her tongue at me in the mirror. ‘Mimes are hilarious.’ She finished with the cloth. ‘My party needs to be exceptional. Everyone must have a good time. Daddy said a few important deals will be made that night, and everything must be perfect.’ She stood and turned, giving me her back. ‘Help me get this thing off, will you?’

  Having gone through this routine before, I knew it was pointless to argue. She’d just kept badgering me until I caved. I leant my cane behind the door, and, with trepidation, approached the long line of tiny buttons closing her dress. Feeling like my fingers were stubs of wood, I fumbled with them, biting back curses. I wanted to ask why you’d bother wearing a dress you couldn’t get in and out of, but I knew Nicola would just roll her eyes and declare me ‘silly’ or ‘funny’ and then I’d end up shoving the buttons up her nose.

  ‘Be careful this time,’ Nicola murmured. ‘Those buttons are real pearls.’

  ‘I'm doing the best I can.’ My fingers slipped and I cursed out loud.

  ‘Relax.’ Nicola grinned at me over her shoulder. ‘Anyone would think you’d never done this before.’

  A sharp rap sounded against the door and I jumped, my fingers tearing a button off. I palmed it quickly; there were enough of those little suckers she might not notice one missing.

  ‘Who is it?’ Nicola sang out.

  A muffled voice came from behind the door.

  ‘Who?’ Nicola asked impatiently, moving closer. Once again, the reply was unclear. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, my internal warning system kicking in. One thing I'd learned the hard way was not to ignore your instincts. My eyes fell on my cane, resting against the wall.

  I stopped Nicola with a look and stood behind the door, then motioned for her to answer it. Eyes worried, Nicola slid the bolt and turned the handle. The door burst open as someone shoved against it and barged into the room. Nicola screamed, and stumbled back.

  My foot snapped out, connecting the door with a solid blow. It flew back and smashed into the intruder. Bone crunched, followed by a grunt of pain. I darted around the door, shovi
ng Nicola further back into the room and she fell with another scream. The attacker was bent over, hands clasped around a bloodied nose, a fallen dagger at his feet. I grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his face into my knee. His eyes rolled up and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Breathing heavy, I bent over to check him out. He wore a long grey coat and expensive boots. From behind me, Nicola scrambled to her feet.

  I glanced over at her. ‘Does he look familiar?’

  ‘No.’ Nicola gulped air a few times, face pale. ‘I don’t know him.’

  Two stagehands appeared in the doorway, alerted by Nicola’s scream, their faces shocked. I snapped my fingers to get their attention. ‘Get my guy out the back. His name is Crowhurst. Tell him to get in here now.’

  Both men took in the unconscious body and quickly disappeared. I bent over and was about to open the intruder’s coat to look for identification, when his eyes snapped open. He jumped to his feet, blocking my attempt to keep him down. One hand flipped his coat open, revealing a belt of throwing knives and he pulled one out, slashing the blade at me. I swerved, then darted in, grasping and twisting the tender flesh between his thumb and finger. The man grunted, and the blade fell. His foot lashed out, catching my bad knee and I went down with a shout, pain flaring bright behind my eyes. I lurched for the fallen throwing knife, my fingers grasping it just before I was yanked upright by my hair. Twisting, I stabbed with the blade, going for his stomach. But my aim was off, and the dagger plunged into his chest. With a strangled sound, he dropped to his knees, his face shocked, as if he’d been expecting easier prey. Then his eyes lost focus and he toppled over. Panting, I pulled myself up by the doorframe.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ Nicola was suddenly beside me. She tugged on my arm, as if she wanted to help but didn’t know how.

  ‘I'm fine.’ My voice was sharp.

  Nicola’s hands dropped to her side, eyes brimming with tears. I tried to rein back my temper. I hadn’t wanted to kill the guy; I'd wanted him alive. You can take a long time to die with a knife in the stomach. Enough time to ask questions. I yanked the dagger out of the dead man’s chest. Nicola moaned, but I ignored her, my attention on the man’s blade.

  It was a simple design, and nicely balanced. I opened his coat with my boot toe, taking a good look at the razor line of daggers at his belt. Bending, I ruffled through pockets, but didn’t find any identification.

  ‘You sure you don’t recognise him?’ I straightened and winced as my bad leg yelped with pain, agitated from the fight. I pulled some painkillers from a belt pocket and threw back two, mashing the tablets with my teeth.

  Nicola shook her head, blonde hair bouncing. ‘I've never seen him before.’

  Rolling the bitter taste of the tablets over my tongue, I stared down at the blades. Our attacker didn’t fit the profile of an overzealous fan. More like a paid killer with a job to do. Which usually meant one thing.

  It was probably my fault.

  Chapter 5

  My shift ended the moment Nicola was escorted through the wrought iron gates of her father’s villa on Darby Street, deep in the affluent section of the city. Her father, Ivor Grogan, was a wealthy alchemist and merchant. Rumour said he was also closely affiliated with the Reaper Street Gang, which might have explained Stonehouse’s decision to hire protection for Nicola. If there was anyone you didn’t want to annoy, it was those affiliated with the Reapers.

  Only a handful of organised gangs operated in Harken. The Bowley Street Boys specialised in protection rackets and bootlegging, while the violent Black Darby gang dealt in hired muscle and arson. Smaller, unorganised gangs got away with whatever they could. The Reapers, however, were the big crime syndicate in Harken. Identified by a tattoo of a scythe on their left forearm, the Reapers specialised in drug peddling and wet-work. Their current leader was an enigmatic figure known as the Half-Skull Man. Whether he was real, or a fiction created to intimidate the general population, was debatable.

  The attack was reported to the City Watch and, with Nicola as a witness, the death was considered a clear case of self-defence. I filled out the necessary paperwork and signed some forms, then escorted Nicola safely home.

  Though I was dog tired, I decided to make my way to Blackgoat and check in with Gideon. The winding cobbles of Abraham’s Alley were crowded with trinket stalls, faith healers, and peddlers selling anything they could get away with. Living quarters clustered on the second stories above the shops, some windows open and taking advantage of the unusual warm breezes. Snatches of life leaked from within the residences: babies crying, couples fighting, and loud, drunken singing.

  Blackgoat Watch sat in the middle of the alley: a two-storey building with a fresh coat of paint. Before the fire, there had been a fancy wooden sign above the door in the shape of a broadsword. But Gideon hadn’t gotten around to replacing it, and someone had eventually just scrawled the company’s name on the door in chalk.

  Next to Blackgoat Watch was Orella’s shop, Arcania Apothecary, where the sick came for potions to heal, and professional craftusers stopped in for supplies. Her bay windows showed a full house and I spied the shop girl Orella had recently hired to help out, serving people in an efficient manner.

  Inside Blackgoat, I found Gideon absent from his office upstairs. A few Runners were playing cards in the kitchen, and they didn’t know where he was either.

  Guilt tapped me on the shoulder, ordering me to check in on Orella. She’d lost an eye after being attacked by a hellspawn, summoned through a spell in the Aldebaran. So the feeling I was responsible was kind of hard to shake.

  Popping into Arcania, the new girl crisply informed me Orella was sleeping and not to be disturbed. My stomach rumbled, and I decided to chase down some food before heading home for the night. I found a noodle stall nearby and ordered a bowl of the chef’s special with a side of steamed beans. A sleepy-eyed otherkin with a beak and hairnet covering his hairy ears placed the food in front of me. I tucked in on the steaming noodles, the sticky sauce sweet and heavy.

  ‘Lora Blackgoat?’

  I stopped chewing and sighed. Everyone wanted a piece of good old Lora tonight. Turning, I saw the full-blooded dwarf next to me being hustled off his stool by a big guy with a harelip. The dwarf clutched his noodle bowl and shuffled to another seat, glaring at me like I was to blame. Harelip stepped back and caution tightened my shoulders. His eyes had that kind of vacant look you see in men who hurt people for a living, and like it enough to do it for free.

  A second man sat down on the recently vacated stool. He was heavy-set, with a flat nose and cauliflower ears, his grey hair clipped short, eyes a rusty tan colour. While he had the solid bearing of an ex-pugilist, his coat and hat suggested he had more money than was good for him.

  ‘Well met, Lady Blackgoat.’ His voice was low and coarse.

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, trying to remember if I owed anyone money. While Gideon paid me a good wage, and I received a percentage on high profile jobs, my compulsion to buy expensive shoes and fondness for gambling always saw me short.

  ‘Do we have business?’ I asked.

  ‘Allow me to introduce myself, I am Master Ivor Grogan,’ he began. ‘I was informed the manager of the Iron Horse hired you to take care of my daughter.’

  I hesitated before answering. I didn’t know much about Ivor Grogan past the rumours of his dealings with the Reapers, which in itself was enough for me to worry about this little meeting.

  ‘What can I do for you, Master Grogan?’ I kept my voice crisp and polite.

  ‘I heard of the attack on my daughter.’ His eyes slid up to my snow-white hair, eyebrows lifting a fraction.

  ‘I can assure you, Nicola was never in any danger.’ I wasn’t sure what else to say. A silence stretched out between us, but I held my tongue, not feeling a need to fill it with further explanations. After all, he was the one interrupting my meal.

  ‘I wanted to thank you personally for looking after Nicola,’ Grogan said final
ly. ‘Her mother died some years ago and I was never blessed with other children. Nicola is very important to me.’

  Another silence stretched, with Grogan watching me and waiting. I was acutely aware he hadn’t asked a question. I narrowed my eyes, and Grogan’s aura popped into my vision. It was a hurricane of purple and orange, whirling like a storm: a man attracted to blood and death.

  Grogan broke the silence. ‘Did you discover the identity of the attacker?’

  I blinked the vision away and mentally gave myself two points for not talking first. ‘The City Watch couldn’t identify him,’ I said. ‘No-one in the theatre recognised him either. My guess is he was some low-level assassin.’ I threw Grogan a pair of weary dimples. ‘I was under the impression Nicola needed protection from an enthusiastic fan. Do you have any idea why someone would send someone to kill her?’

  ‘I doubt very much they would have killed her,’ Grogan said. ‘It was more likely a kidnap attempt, or someone trying to send a message.’

  ‘What kind of message would that be?’

  Grogan pretended to examine the blackboard menu hammered into the side of the stall. ‘I am on the verge of a very important business deal, and there is another party that would see me fail, so they may grasp the opportunity for themselves.’

  I looked down at my cooling noodles. ‘Is there a specific reason you’ve come to find me, Master Grogan? If so, I'd rather you got to the point.’

  His eyes swung back to me, hard and mean. A small voice warned me to tread more carefully. Men with money and a violent past were to be treated like wild animals. You didn’t go around poking them with sticks.