Burn Mark

by Laura Powell

  Lucas felt Glory stiffen beside him. His blood turned to ice.

  Charlie, however, gave a low chuckle. ‘Well, well, well. The pyros must’ve got themselves a pet witch. Someone they’re paying or someone they’re forcing to do their dirty work?’

  ‘Forcing, I think – there’s been some “disciplinary” issues, apparently. I don’t know the details. I only got wind of it on Wednesday night. Godfrey had been at his club, and drinking . . . he’s not used to it, really . . . Then he said something as I put him to bed. I didn’t have to pretend not to understand. Later I heard him – with Silas Paterson, on the phone. So I did some digging. There’s a government minister, Helena Howell, who’s helping in some way, and they have back-up at the Inquisition. The police too. I don’t know how far up it goes.’

  ‘Hmm. Trying to provoke a witch-hunt, are they?’

  ‘It’s cleverer than that.’ She twisted her hands. Her rings glittered in the lamplight. ‘It’s Jack Rawdon they’re after. They hate him and what he’s trying to do with WICA. They’re going to produce evidence he did the whistle-wind and plague and so on himself. They’ll say that when he was working against Endor all those years ago, he got turned. That he’s been one of the terrorists all along.’

  ‘Very neat. Yes, that’s a nice little stitch-up.’ Charlie sounded almost approving. ‘In fact, the only thing I don’t understand is why you’ve brought it to me.’

  Lady Merle widened her violet eyes. ‘So you can put a stop to it, of course. You’ll have to be quick. There’s going to be one more attack, later this week, which is when Rawdon will be arrested. But this witch they’re using – they’ve got them locked up in one of the Inquisition’s hidey-holes. If you get to him or her first, make them testify, or . . .’ There was a catch in her voice, and she put out a hand in appeal. ‘Please. I’ve always given you good information, haven’t I? With your contacts and resources, you’re the only person who can help. The only one I can trust.’

  Charlie laughed.

  ‘You always did make a good damsel in distress. Such charms might’ve worked on poor old Vince back in the day, and any number of eligible bachelors since. But I’m made of sterner stuff.’ He leaned back against a pillar and regarded her narrowly. ‘You’re a capable girl, Reeny. You’ve got this far without anyone suspecting you’ve a brain or a backbone. Why not make the most of it, and put the world to rights yourself?’

  ‘I can’t. I can’t. If Godfrey found out I’d gone behind his back, spilled his secrets . . . It’s not me I’m worried about – it’s Rose. Ever since the accident, she’s been helpless. She’s only his stepdaughter. He or his friends would find some way of avenging themselves on her. I know it.’

  In her agitation, the cut-glass accent had slipped and roughened. Her eyes welled. ‘If Godfrey and Silas bring Rawdon down, it’ll be the end of WICA and any other institution that gives witchkind a role and rights. Don’t you see? After that kind of scandal, the Inquisition will be able to do whatever it likes –’

  ‘It’s a sad story, Reeny. It really is. Just the kind of villainy those two-faced pyros go in for. But let’s face it, I’m no fan of Jack Rawdon. My life would be much easier without his gang of witch-snoops poking their noses into my affairs.’ He grinned humourlessly. ‘If there’s a backlash, the covens will ride it out. We always do. Besides, desperation is good for recruitment. All those poor persecuted witches with nowhere to run, and no place to hide . . .’

  ‘You’re a cold-hearted son of a bitch.’ This time there was no emotion in Lady Merle’s voice. She wiped her eyes and began to button up her coat.

  ‘So everyone keeps telling me. And now’s not the time to turn soft. Kez is away, there’s Bradley Goodwin getting ready to mouth off in court, and to top it all, I got word this afternoon there’s a traitor in the ranks.’

  Lucas felt all the breath squeeze out of his body.

  ‘I’m sorry, Reeny,’ Charlie said, as she turned to go. ‘But this ain’t my battle.’

  Charlie stayed nearly fifteen minutes after Lady Merle left. He looked deep in thought. Then he began to type something into his smartphone. Just when the cramp in Lucas’s leg got to the point where he thought he’d have to stretch it out or scream, the guard reappeared.

  ‘Car’s here, boss.’

  ‘OK.’ Charlie sighed heavily. ‘You might as well push off too. There’ll be no more business here tonight.’

  He and the guard stumped out and away. The rev of an engine could be heard. Lucas and Glory held their position for another agonising five minutes before emerging from the shelter. Glory switched on the torch. In its thin grey glow, her face was ghostly. Her eyes glittered.

  ‘Should’ve known. The Inquisition and every pricker in it – born and bred scum.’

  Lucas was almost too dispirited to reply. He felt sick and hollow. ‘The Inquisition’s a vast organisation. A few corrupt officials –’

  She was already marching out of the basement into the main building. When he caught up with her, she turned on him savagely.

  ‘Don’t you dare make excuses. You’ve got it on bloody film. You can’t trust none of them. Not the government, not the pyros, not the police. The whole stinking gang is rotten to their bones.’

  ‘Charlie Morgan’s just as happy to sell witchkind out as Silas Paterson.’

  ‘Charlie’s an evil sod. Nothing new there. And we ain’t a jot closer to giving him what for.’

  ‘And now he knows there’s an informant in the coven.’ Lucas bit his lip.

  ‘Huh.’ She propped the torch against a pillar. ‘The Inquisition probably gave him the heads-up on that and all. One less witch-agent for them to worry about.’

  Lucas shook his head but couldn’t bring himself to deny the possibility outright. He crumbled the remains of the dog’s poppet between his hands, feeling the fae bleed away. He had to face the fact that Silas Paterson had Inquisition support. There were plenty of officers who shared his views, and some of these must be working with him. People like Gideon Hale, perhaps . . . The idea sickened him. For the conspiracy wasn’t just a crime – it was a betrayal of everything the liberal reformers had achieved. The Inquisition’s reputation would take years to recover. So much good work would count for nothing.

  ‘To terrorise their fellow citizens . . . People they’ve sworn to protect . . . how can they live with themselves?’

  Glory made an exasperated sound. ‘Very nicely, I’m sure. So you can quit the hand-wringing. You’ll only give yourself another bunch of grey hairs.’

  He would have thought it was just a figure of speech. But then he saw Glory’s eyes flinch. She knew that she’d let something slip. Though she recovered quickly, it wasn’t quickly enough. They stared at each other and the space between them hummed.

  ‘My God.’ He felt stupid with shock. ‘You can see past the glamour. You’re . . . you’re a witch too.’

  For a moment, it looked as if she was going to try to face it out. Then she laughed, defiantly. ‘As good a witch as you, or better. Next time, find a safer place to hide your amulet. Or put stronger fae into its crafting.’

  He swallowed hard. ‘Does this mean you know who I am?’

  She didn’t answer. There were two spots of colour high on her cheeks.

  ‘Do you?’

  Her lip curled.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  He stepped towards her.

  Anger and fear drummed through him. Their faces were so close they were almost touching. Both were breathing hard.

  Suddenly Glory struck out at his chest, pushing him away. She drew herself up to her full height. ‘Yeah. I know you, all right. Lucas Hexing Stearne.’

  A terrible thought came to him. Glory must have only recently learned his name – that was why her behaviour towards him had suddenly turned. And that afternoon, Charlie Morgan had been told there was an informant in the coven. ‘Were you the one who warned Charlie about the mole?’

  ‘Don’t be pathetic,’ she spa
t. ‘I hate the Inquisition and every pyro in it, but I hate Charlie just as bad.’

  This time her gaze didn’t waver.

  ‘All right,’ he said stiffly. ‘I shouldn’t have doubted you. I guess we’ve both had some surprises today. You’ve learned my name, and I’ve discovered you’re a witch. We’re quits. Now we need to –’

  ‘Quits! Mab Almighty . . . don’t you know nothing about my world? There’s some who say turning snitch is the worst crime of all – worse’n murder even. But I ain’t just helped Auntie bring a spy into the coven. I’ve betrayed it to a High Inquisitor’s son.’

  The gutted building loomed around them, dark and cavernous. Thunder rumbled distantly.

  ‘Are you saying that if you’d known who I was from the start, you’d never have helped me?’

  ‘I’m saying that everything’s changed. This ain’t the Inquisition against a corrupt coven boss. This is the Inquisition against witchkind. And . . . and I don’t think even you can be sure which side you’re on.’

  Perhaps she was right. The idea infuriated him. ‘Hex you, then. You say I’ll never understand your world. What about you understanding mine? In your world, they roll out the red carpet for witchkind. Well, that’s not how it works where I come from. You think it was easy for me, telling my father what I’d become?’ He glared at her in the torchlight. ‘And I have just as much reason to distrust witches as you have inquisitors. Some hagbitch murdered my mother. With a bane.’

  Lucas hadn’t meant to say this. It felt like a cheap shot, but some of Glory’s sharpness immediately softened.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Christ.’ Then, with effort: ‘I’m sorry. Because I can . . . I mean, I do know how . . .’

  Poor motherless witches, the pair of them. ‘Yeah. So it turns out we actually have two things in common.’

  It wasn’t funny, but for some reason he wanted to laugh. To his surprise, Glory’s mouth twitched too.

  It was then that the sirens began to wail.

  Flashing lights pulsed in the cracks around the boarded-up windows and entranceway. Several police cars, ambulances and a fire engine were racing down the road outside.

  This time it was Lucas’s sixth sense that kicked into action. He knew, somehow, who those sirens were for. Glory guessed it too. Before he could stop her, she hurried out of the building.

  CHAPTER 25

  That far-off rumble hadn’t been thunder, but an explosion. When Glory and Lucas reached the shabby high street at the end of the Radley’s block, some people were already stumbling away in panic, while others, like them, pressed on – drawn by a desire to help or witness, to sniff out the blood. They followed the commotion through a housing estate, until they came to what should have been another unremarkable road.

  The police had already cordoned off the area. Acrid smoke hung in the air. It came off a wreck of twisted, blackened metal, shot through with flames. The remains of Charlie Morgan’s BMW.

  Lucas thought, before he could stop himself, of his mother.

  Glory could think of nothing at all. Her mind was a roaring blankness.

  The car-bomb had exploded outside an off-licence. Its windows were blown out, the interior in shreds. A woman was sitting on the kerb, a bloody rag pressed against her head. Another bystander lay in the road, surrounded by paramedics. One ambulance had already gone and frantic activity could be glimpsed inside the other two. A crowd had already gathered.

  ‘. . . it’ll be a political target,’ somebody was saying. ‘Some government bigwig the witches don’t like.’

  ‘Just like Endor, all over again,’ said his friend.

  Glory’s face was dazed and white.

  ‘Here you go, luvvie, have a tot,’ said the elderly man standing next to her and Lucas. He handed her a hip flask. She took a swallow of whisky and coughed, spluttering. ‘That’s right – put some colour in your cheeks.’

  ‘Did you see what happened?’ Lucas asked.

  ‘I seen it all.’ The old man spoke with relish. ‘I was waiting for me bus, just over there. Then a car pulled up and this bloke – big, important-looking – got out the back. He went into the offie for a packet of fags. But as soon as he opens the car door again . . . kaboom! The blast threw him halfway across the street. Poor sod looked in a bad way. Still, at least he was alive when they put him in the ambulance. His driver didn’t have a hope.’

  Perhaps there had been a problem with the detonator. Thanks to a trick of timing, Charlie Morgan had – possibly – survived.

  A policeman was taking down names and asking for statements. The old man moved towards him eagerly. Lucas took Glory by the arm. ‘Come on,’ he muttered. ‘We shouldn’t be seen here.’

  Because he didn’t know where else to go, he led her back in the direction they’d come from, and the desolate row of abandoned buildings.

  ‘Not the Radley,’ Glory told him, rousing herself a little. ‘The Wednesday Coven crew – once they hear – they might come looking –’

  A disused office block provided an alternative shelter. Someone had already cut the wire fence across the entrance and they climbed inside a smashed window on the ground floor. Glory’s torch picked out a sleeping bag and syringe lying in the corridor, and couple of half-melted candles stuck in jam jars. All the items were filmed with dust.

  They moved on to a windowless room furnished with a couple of beaten-up filing cabinets and a pile of filthy curtains. Glory propped the torch on a cabinet and sat on the curtains. Her legs still felt a little wobbly. It was only now, looking at Lucas in the torchlight, that she thought back to the confrontation that the sirens had interrupted. It already seemed faded and far away.

  She had wanted Charlie punished, and thought she would have rejoiced to see him dead. Yet she couldn’t get that smoking, bloodied heap of metal out of her head. The image alternated with one of Charlie topping up her glass at dinner the other week: bragging, swaggering, invincible.

  ‘All right . . . who d’you think done it?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice firm. Grit your teeth and remember you’re a Starling. ‘Paterson and Merle?’

  Lucas was relieved by her businesslike tone, and did his best to match it. ‘I don’t see how killing a coven boss fits into the plot to frame Jack Rawdon. And what about the timing? They’d need to prep an insider, wouldn’t they, for access and so on. I’d think it more likely one of Charlie’s associates or rivals decided to take him out.’

  ‘All right. Maybe you ain’t the only snitch on the block. Maybe somebody else just got their cover blown.’ Glory sighed. ‘We’d better hope so, anyhow. ’Cause if Charlie found out you’re a WICA mole, he’ll have spread the word. Me and Auntie A will be under suspicion, along with anyone else who’s been within a mile of you in the last week.’ She got out her phone. ‘I need to warn Auntie.’

  But Lucas stopped her hand. ‘Let her know we’re safe. Say we were following Charlie, saw the explosion, and that we’re hiding out till we know what’s what. But don’t tell her what we heard from Lady Merle.’

  ‘Are you cracked? We need all the help we can get.’

  This was tricky. Lucas didn’t want their recent accusations and recriminations to flare up again. He paused, searching for the right words. ‘How long has your great-aunt been an informant for the Inquisition?’

  ‘Coupla months.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘’Course. Why?’

  ‘According to my handler at WICA, Angeline’s been informing for decades.’

  Glory smacked a filing cabinet in frustration. ‘More crappy Inquisition lies! Auntie Angel’s no snitch.’

  ‘Er, you both are, remember? For good reason, of course,’ Lucas added hastily. ‘If Angeline did get in touch with the Inquisition thirty years ago, I’m sure there’s an explanation for it. But I don’t think we should risk getting her involved. Not until we know exactly what she’s been telling them, and why. And why she hasn’t told you.’

  ‘Thirty years, you said?’


  ‘Twenty-eight, to be precise.’

  Glory felt her whole body lurch. It was like missing a step on the stairs. The big event of twenty-eight years ago was Granny Cora’s return. After five years on the run with Edie, she’d telephoned her sisters, and arranged for them to meet. But the Inquisition got to her first. Someone had tipped them off.

  Don’t go there, she told herself fiercely. The Inquisition lies, everyone knows that. They want to make you paranoid. They twist things, and people, to suit their own ends. If Auntie Angel ever went to the prickers, it would have been to try to bargain with them, to ensure her sister’s release . . .

  In which case, though, why hadn’t she ever told Glory about it?

  Lucas, sensing his advantage, pressed on. ‘Even if my cover’s safe, we won’t get any help from the covens. Charlie made that clear to Lady Merle. We can’t risk going back to Cooper Street and WICA won’t be much safer – the Inquisition monitors everything. So I need to get word to my handler in secret.’

  ‘You trust him?’

  ‘Her. Yes, I do. She’s WICA, and loyal to Rawdon. She’ll find a way to warn him.’ As he spoke, he realised there was someone else he could go to. Zoey was under surveillance, but Senior Witch Warden Jonah Branning wasn’t. The man might be irritating but he wasn’t corrupt. That freckled face practically shone with honesty. ‘But if we’re going to put a stop to this conspiracy, we’ll need proof.’

  ‘On that film you took, all you got is accusations. A chat between a mobster and some high-class bimbo ain’t evidence. It’d be laughed out of court.’

  ‘I know. That’s why we need to speak to Lady Merle ourselves. She may have more information for us. The key to all this is the witch that the conspirators are using. We have to find out who it is and where they’re being held.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Glory eyed him thoughtfully. ‘If we’re going to play detectives, then I’ll need a drink.’

  With a flourish, she brought out a hip flask from her jacket pocket.