“I know that song.” Seth cracked an eye open. With a swift move and a rustle of sheets, he pinned me down, his body warm and reassuring after my restless nightmares. “Bad dreams, dimples?” Seth dipped his head, his lips brushing my neck. “You moaned in your sleep last night and I was nowhere near you.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” I said crossly, wiggling out from under him.
Seth rolled off me and sat up with an annoyed look. I pulled the sheets up and tried to remember where I had left my dignity. Somewhere at the bottom of a tankard, it would seem.
“Just what did you think you were doing last night?” he asked. “I thought you were going straight home. Bad enough you were pissing off Regulators at The Scarlet Wren, then I find out you’re picking fights at the Mermaids Cleft an hour later. You know women aren’t welcome there. The men in that place would eat you alive if they had the chance. You should be thankful I came and got you.”
Hazy images of the last night appeared randomly in my head, fluttering around like autumn leaves. As each image flitted past, it gave me enough of a cringing glimpse to know that if I could remember more, it wouldn’t be pretty. I winced, recalling at one point stabbing a finger in someone’s massive chest. The Mermaid’s Cleft was the drinking hole for Spink. But he hadn’t been around, so I’d settled down to have a few drinks and see if he showed. Not my greatest idea, if I was honest, but it was difficult to have good ideas after a couple of beers and whiskey shots.
“So?” Seth prompted. “What were you doing there?”
Staring at him, I wondered how much he knew anyway. “I was just having a drink.”
He gave an amused laugh. “Thought Gideon had banned you from bars, dice and all manner of unwomanly behaviour.”
I rubbed my neck, trying to massage my headache away. A memory shot back of Cloete joining me at one point. The only other female employed as a Runner by Gideon, Cloete was a tall otherkin with enough succubus blood to sport a couple of horns and an inky-black tail that always curled snug around one of her thighs.
Seth was watching me closely and his mouth thinned, obviously deciding to stop grilling me. I knew him though. He knew I was up to something I didn’t want to tell him and was just looking for me to slip up on a detail. I blew out a breath, too tired and too hung-over to care.
“I saw the marks on your back.” Seth’s voice gentled.
“Disagreement with a co-worker.”
“I heard about that. Some Runner called Sigwell attacked you? Heard also you got rushed to The Order’s hospital. I’m glad you got out of that butcher’s den in one piece.”
I shifted, sitting up. After Sigwell had become infected with the demon he was trying to banish, he had turned on me with his knife. Frankly, I was surprised I was still alive. I’d been in too much agony to protest when I’d been rushed to The Order’s hospital. While they were technically a hospital for the public, their bloodthirsty reputation kept most civilians at bay.
“Gideon came and got me before they could do too much harm.” I covered a yawn with one hand. “Orella patched me up just fine.” I tucked my hands in my armpits, securing the slipping sheet. “Apparently the head surgeon was putting leeches on me to pull out the bad blood. Can you believe it? In this day and age?”
“The only reason the surgeon there still has a job is because he has the Sight,” Seth said.
“A mind-reader?” I gave a snort of disbelief, remembered vaguely a fat, sweaty man with round glasses leaning over me and yelling something. “I thought The Order drove all of those with the ability out of the city decades ago.”
“There are still some around,” Seth said. “He’s probably a Grigori’s pet.”
“I wonder if Orella knew he had the Sight,” I murmured.
“Doesn’t Orella know everything?” Seth’s expression turned curious. “What happened, really? I heard you miscalculated during an exorcism. That your client turned into a giant scorpion and your co-worker grew a second head before you chopped them both off.”
“That’s just stupid.”
“So you say.”
“I did what had to be done.”
“Is it true you call yourself Chopper now?”
I stared at him accusingly. “Did you start that rumour?”
“Me?” Seth placed his fingertips against his chest. “I have my own nickname for you, dimples. I don’t need another one.”
“I’ll bet Gideon started the Chopper thing.” I ground my molars. “It’s just the kind of thing he’d do.”
“Speaking of which.” Seth traced a light hand along my upper arm. “I’ve been trying to arrange a meeting with Gideon, but every time I go to see him, he’s apparently out.”
“Really?” I pulled the sheet up to my chin. Seth had shifted position, the sheet falling off to reveal him in all his naked morning glory. His hand kept stroking me and I averted my eyes from his manhood, sitting heavy against a tanned, muscled thigh. My gaze lifted to trace the curls of hair around his nipples, dropping to the curves of muscle on his stomach. Swallowing, I tore my gaze away before he noticed and shifted my leg from his touch. “I can’t help you with Gideon. How can I be expected to know where he is all the time?”
“It’s important I speak to him.”
“What about?”
Seth’s expression became guarded and I frowned. “You can’t tell me?”
“I just need to know if he’s heard anything…unusual through his channels.”
“What kind of unusual?” I asked. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
Irritation flashed across his face, then smoothed out. “I’m looking for information about the Butcher of Applecross.”
Surprise sparked in my aching head. “You and everyone else. Don’t you have your own sources?”
Seth stared at me a beat, as if unsure to continue. Then with a resigned air, said, “I have suspicions this killer is connected with another high profile crime.”
“Are you talking about what happened at Saint Pendergrast?” I said without thinking.
Seth’s fingers stopped stroking my skin. “How did you make that connection?”
“I heard the priests had specific body parts removed.” I kept my tone light. “I know my maths. I can put two and two together.”
“There’s a theory floating around the Butcher of Applecross is a warlock.”
“Why does everyone think it’s a warlock?” I asked. “Why couldn’t it be a witch?”
He shot me a considering look. “Who’s ‘everyone’?”
“I don’t know,” I said, finding the weave on my sheet suddenly interesting.
“If you know anything, I’d be very grateful.”
“Do you have any theories?” I asked
He fell silent and I gave him a playful shove. “What? It’s a big secret you can’t tell me?”
“Have you heard anything or not?”
I reached out to tug at one of his ears, forgetting my hangover for a moment. “I’ll see what I can find out.”
Seth grabbed my hand. “I don’t think the murders were done by the nephilim, or a warlock. The bodies had holes in their foreheads. That’s a hellspawn method of withdrawing a human soul for consumption.”
This, I wasn’t expecting. Caleb’s words about the burnt footprint echoed through my head. I tried to laugh and it sounded forced. “You’re kidding, right? How come you know the eating habits of hellspawn?”
Seth’s face closed down and he shifted away from me. “I consulted with a demonologist. Don’t ask me any more than that.”
I wet my lips. “Alright. Keep your secrets.” I suddenly felt incredibly bad tempered. “Look. You better get dressed and get out. I don’t want Morgan to know you’re here.”
“Your housekeeper? What do you care?”
“She might tell Orella and you’re not one of her favourite people. So get dressed and get out. Leave by the window.”
Avoiding Seth’s wry look, my eyes fixed on my battered w
ardrobe against the far wall, the doors open to reveal my clothes bursting out. Outland clothes with a mish-mash of respectable skirts and corsets. There were times when a girl had to blend in, after all.
Seth heaved a sigh and rolled out of bed. “One of these days, Dimples, you’ll push me too far and I won’t want to see you again.” He picked up his pants from the floor. “You never seem to worry about what your neighbours think about a man leaving your home at this hour. Just your housekeeper. Why do you think that is?”
“My neighbours are all perverts and delinquents.”
“Sounds like I fit right in.” Seth stalked over to me. He wore a grin on his face and his pants were undone. He pulled me to him and I felt my resolve to kick him out waver.
“Seth.”
It was supposed to come out as a warning, but a need had stirred inside of me; a heavy ache that tethered me to Seth, a need for what he did for me, for how he touched me. I’d had lovers over the years, but somehow, before any of them got serious, Seth seemed to show up. Any prospective long-term relationships seemed to disappear pretty quickly after he appeared on the scene. And if they didn’t? Well, no one crossed Seth and got away unscathed. His reputation for shady dealings was well known in Applecross. It made me furious at him, but it was too exhausting to maintain the rage. So I just drew on it now and then.
Seth’s lips had started nuzzling my neck, placing soft kisses under my ear and nibbling on my earlobes. “How about a quick one? Something to put a spring in my step for the day.”
His hands wandered to my breasts, tracing his fingernails around my nipples under the sheet. Heat was spreading through me, but I grit my teeth. I was not going to shag Seth. I was not. I was not.
“You’ve got to go, Seth.”
His kisses stopped. I felt his body stiffen. With a sniff, he pulled away and sat back down on the bed, picking up his boots. I manoeuvred out of bed with the sheet still wrapped around me. Shuffling across the room, I snatched out my nightgown from my wardrobe and slipped into it.
“You talked in your sleep last night.” Seth stood, buttoning his shirt up. “Kept muttering about that charm you always wear. I notice you’re not wearing it.”
Closing my eyes, I imagined Orella’s face crumpling in despair when I eventually managed to explain the charm had been broken. It was a family heirloom she’d given to me as a girl and I had always treasured the finely wrought ball with its decorative embossing and blue crystals. Another casualty of the night I’d killed Sigwell. I tried to imagine myself explaining to Orella I’d broken her irreplaceable family charm. In my mind’s eye, Orella’s face shifted to anger and she started to breathe fire. I winced. “Orella doesn’t know. I don’t want her to find out.”
“What’s the big deal?”
“The charm has been in her family forever,” I sighed. “It would break her heart if I told her what happened. I just need to get it fixed before she finds out.”
“You can be assured of my discretion.” Seth grinned. “Orella wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire. How did it break?”
I massaged the bridge of my nose, willing my hangover to disappear. “I’m not sure. It just did.”
“Do you still have the pieces?”
“Yes, but I can’t find a tinker who’ll take the job. Some say they’re booked until next season, others tell me it’s impossible to fix.”
“The best tinker in Harken owes me a favour.” Seth held his hand out. “Give it to me and I’ll return it to you as quick as I can. Orella won’t know.”
Instantly suspicious of the helpful tone, I hesitated. I’d met Seth when I was sixteen and he’d seduced me, relieving me of my virginity in a dark alleyway. I knew he was a killer. I knew he was ambitious. Some things he could be trusted on, and then others he couldn’t. I had always known him to be the least trustworthy when at crossroads with his conscience and his ambitions. But I was desperate, and his offer to help me seemed genuine. He waggled his outstretched hand.
“Lora. I can do this for you. No conditions attached. I promise.”
Reminding myself of how long Orella could stay angry, I rummaged through the crumpled clothes on the floor. Locating my work-belt, I pulled the broken charm from one of the pockets. Passing it to him, I watched as Seth looked down at the two pieces.
“You promise to get it back to me?” I asked in a small voice.
“I will.” Pocketing the charm, he reached around his own neck to untie a leather cord. He threw it to me. A gold medallion winked in the morning light and I caught it with one hand.
“It’s about the same size,” he told me. “Restring it on your chain until I return yours. If you’re careful enough, Orella won’t notice the difference.”
“Who gave you this?” I stared at the small bronze disc in my hand. The blunt face of a lion was stamped on it, the symbol of Anon, the brooding, hawk-nosed God of War.
“No one. It’s nothing. Something I picked up from the markets.”
Unstringing the medallion, I threaded it on my own slender gold chain and attached it around my neck. “Thanks.”
Seth gave me a devastating smile and stepped close. He lowered his face to mine, giving my nose a teasing brush with his lips. The goatee tickled and I stepped back, trying not to smile. The weight was too light, the coin warm against my skin, but it would do. I eyed Seth’s facial hair, frowning as I rubbed my raw chin. “When are you going to shave that thing off?”
“When I feel like it.” He finished tying his boots and shrugged into his uniformed jacket. “Don’t suppose you feel like giving a poor Captain a quick blow job before he leaves? Something to get me through the day?”
“Out.” I pointed to my bedroom window for emphasis, where a large ash tree brushed against the house. In the past, it had often been Seth’s way of seeing me and not alerting my housemaid.
“What am I? A teenager? At least let me leave through the front door,” he complained. I opened my bedroom door and thrust my head out, ears straining for sounds of life. I heard pots clattering in the kitchen and turned to Seth, pointing to the window, my expression resolute.
He walked to the window, shaking his head. “Sometimes, I don’t know why I even bother.”
I wondered the same thing.
Chapter 8
I tiptoed down the short staircase that led to the lower rooms, each step revealing a new creak I had never noticed before. The heady smell of cooking mushrooms assaulted my senses and my mouth began to water. Whispering a quick prayer to the Mother-Goddess Kianna, I hoped that at least Orella wouldn’t be joining us for breakfast. A small, practical voice reminded me Morgan only cooked mushrooms when Orella visited on Saturday. And I was pretty damned sure it was Saturday.
“About time you got up.”
Orella appeared at the bottom of the stairs and I gave a little screech of fright. I straightened, reminding myself Seth’s presence hadn’t been discovered yet. Orella stared up at me, chewing on the inside of her lip. I straightened my spine automatically and tried not to look hung-over. Orella’s temper was something to avoid at all costs.
“Took your time,” she grumped. Orella wore her customary scarf wrapped around her head, her pointed ears pierced with silver hoops. She was short for her breed, with an old woman’s hump, swollen joints and nicotine stained fingers. The wooden bangles around her wrists clanked as she reached up to scratch an armpit. “Why are you just standing there? Sit down. Morgan’s got mushrooms on the fry.” She turned and disappeared back into the kitchen.
I kept my face straight, knowing Orella could smell guilt at thirty yards and shame at ten. Padding to the bottom of the stairs, I turned into the kitchen.
The bottom floor of my home held a tiny sitting room with pre-loved furniture and a small fireplace with a chimney that clogged every couple of weeks. The sitting room led directly to the kitchen, the most used room of the house. I sat down at my table; a second-hand affair that gave you splinters if you ran your hand over it. Morgan stood beside a r
usty range-cooker, stirring a sizzling frypan. The walls of the kitchen were lined with pine cupboards, interspersed with rows of hanging copper pots. Bristly dried herbs looped around doorframes, combined with strands of garlic and dried chilli clusters.
Morgan glanced up from the pan. She was a solid woman with baggy eyes and frizzy grey hair pulled back into a bun. A white apron sat over her skirts, blouse sleeves rolled up to expose strong baker’s arms. “Nearly ready,” she said.
Morgan slept in the small room under the staircase and didn’t have a single vice I knew about. She was a volunteer at the Church of Kianna twice a week and sold beetroot at the farmers markets in Avalon Square. I liked Morgan. She looked after all the household detail I couldn’t be bothered with. Of course, if I didn’t find a way to pay off Daleman and this month’s bills, Morgan and I were going to have to talk about her taking a pay cut.
Orella sat opposite me, spreading jam on a ragged piece of bread, a cup of coffee near her elbow. The sight of food woke a roaring hunger in me and I licked my lips.
“Sleep well?” Orella didn’t look up from her bread and her lips were puckered. Not a good sign.
“Just fine,” I replied lightly.
Morgan approached the table with the spitting pan, placing it at one end. I snatched up a hot mushroom and tucked it into my mouth. I chewed and prayed Seth was currently clambering down the ash tree’s branches to be on his merry way.
“You smell bad, Lora.” Orella’s voice was muffled through a mouthful of bread. She shovelled mushrooms onto her plate. “You smell like you spent the night on a tavern floor.”
“Doesn’t sound like something I’d do.” I tried to keep my voice light, my face virginal and pure. As if my head didn’t feel like it was being squeezed by a vice thanks to excessive drinking and fighting.
Chaos Born Page 6