“Oi! No need for that now,” Darla cried, pretending to be annoyed. Her pupils cast around in separate directions, keeping an eye on the customers. I knew Darla was otherkin, with a strong serving of khamai blood, a lizard-like creature.
“How can I resist, when you look so ravishing?” Gideon grinned, gripping her hips playfully.
“Ain’t he a sweet talker,” Darla cooed and I tried not to gag.
“Now,” Darla said. “Let’s see if we cans remember…,” She paused for effect. “…mostly people been talking about that Butcher, chopping off hands and eating them like they’re sweet meats. Lots of people scared.” She gave an exaggerated shiver, the tops of her bosom wobbling alarmingly. “Bad things to be happening, that’s to be sure.” She dismissed the topic, putting a hand on one of Gideon’s shoulders. “Can I get you a fresh hot chocolate? Or something stronger?”
Gideon pushed his cup away and she picked it up. “I would like a glass of that delicious peach wine you serve here.” His eyes shifted to glare at Crowhurst and myself. “These two will have nothing. They must keep what little wits they have about them.”
“Of course.” Darla planted a kiss on top of Gideon’s head and hurried off, though not before he got in another pinch. He watched the retreat of her voluptuous bottom, then shook his head. “She’s right. A terrible situation, such a killer in Applecross. If they fail to arrest the villain soon, citizens will turn against those they do not understand.” He tapped the side of his short nose. “Mark my words: those who speak the language of the streets see this danger coming.”
The vision of the dead sailor filled my mind, turning my stomach again. I decided to take a chance. “I heard a warlock is responsible. Mad from darkcraft.”
“Oh?” Gideon raised a ragged eyebrow. “What is your interest in the matter?”
I tried not to squirm in my chair and conjure up an acceptable lie, but knew Gideon would see through me like a cheap bathing suit. “A Captain of the City Watch approached me. Asked if I could look around. Just as a favour.”
Gideon gave an annoyed grunt. “I’m going to guess you’re talking about Captain Hallow. That idiot has been bothering me for days. I don’t know anything and I don’t want anyone thinking I do.”
“Actually, it was Caleb Haskett,” I admitted.
“Haskett?” Gideon’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.
“He asked for my help, but I can’t find anyone who knows anything,” I admitted. “Which is strange.”
“Well then,” Gideon said. “I don’t know anything either.”
“Why don’t they just set a bunch of Regulators loose?” Crowhurst asked. “Don’t they hunt darkcraft users?”
“Then the real trouble will start.” Gideon said. “It is only a matter of time before the Regulators hunt the streets with orders to kill all suspected craftusers on sight. They’ll pull every witch out into the street and use her as kindling. Executions will happen right on our doorsteps. Mark my words, none of us will be safe.”
“You’re just being paranoid,” I said.
Gideon’s long face became longer, his gaze more distant. “Time will tell. It has happened before. Such evil can happen again. There is change in the air. Bad change.” His contemplative gaze came back to the present with business-like resolve. “Which is why this job was such a good idea, despite Orella’s melodramatic concerns.”
I raised an eyebrow. This was the first I had heard of any reservations Orella had about the job in locating Arthur Roper and his stolen goods of little consequence. I wondered why she would have any concerns at all, considering how long she had known Gideon and his rather wily ways.
The saloon doors opened. I twisted in my chair, feeling a dash of cool air from outside tickle my cheeks. A tall man entered in a long, non-descript coat. His skin was sallow, eyes sunken and feverishly bright. A severe hooked nose stood proudly out front, his hair a shock of silver over a high forehead with heavy brows. He wore plain shoes and leather gloves against the chill. Old money, was the first impression. Though I knew there was something more to this character. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
Gideon held a hand up to get the man’s attention and he approached us at a slow pace. The door behind him began to swing closed, when a large hand slapped against it. A presence filled the doorway: a large, broad shouldered man in a cloak the colour of sand with a deep cowl hiding his face. He entered the room and his steps held a lithe grace, the walk of a predator, a hunter. He stopped, pushing his cowl back. My breath caught, recognising the shorthaired nephilim from The Scarlet Wren, the one who had threatened me. I felt sick. There was only one type of person who travelled with a Regulator bodyguard.
Fucking Grigori priests.
Chapter 11
“Are you insane?” I asked Gideon in a low voice. “You picked up a Grigori as a client?”
“Hush,” Gideon replied. “Trust me.”
Watching the Regulator carefully, I wondered how Arthur Roper, a small-time crook, who belonged to no street gang, had gotten the balls to steal from a Grigori priest. What he had stolen wasn’t even worth anything, as far as I could figure, save for bragging rights. I wrinkled my nose. Something about this stank.
The Regulator halted, his eyes moving over the room. As he looked my way, I became fascinated with the table in front of me. It might have been my imagination, but I felt his gaze like a light touch, lingering on my back.
The two hobgoblins in the cafe started to sniff the air and chatter nervously amongst themselves. They watched the Regulator as he sat in a chair beside the door, arms crossed and ebony eyes fixed on nothing in particular. With diplomatic politeness, Gideon indicated for the priest to sit near me. I froze, mentally backing my chair seat several feet away.
“So good to see you, again, Father Fowler,” Gideon said.
The priest sat down next to me and the stench of heavy incense wafted from his clothes. I willed myself not to shuffle further away.
“Lora. Reuben. I have the pleasure of introducing you to Father Fowler,” Gideon said. “Father Fowler, these are two of my employees: Lora Blackgoat and Reuben Crowhurst.”
The priest gave us a nod each. Crowhurst nodded back, eyes wary. I just shot death-rays at Gideon, my hands tucked securely under my armpits. Darla breezed back into the room from the kitchen and placed Gideon’s wine down in front of him. She turned to ask if the newcomer wanted anything, but before the words left her mouth, her forehead wrinkled, sensing something wrong. Her eyes scanned around and rested on the Regulator by the door. Something in her face shuddered as a glamour spell was fractured for a second, speared by sheer fright, revealing misshapen features in a smudged blur before reinstating itself.
“Anyone for drinks?” her voice quivered.
Fowler shook his head and Darla nearly tripped over her skirts as she hurried back to the kitchen. One by one, the few patrons of the Brown Bear rose and made for the door with exaggerated overtones of nonchalance. Even the men left on soft feet, knowing they weren’t beyond the piercing glare and bloody boot of The Order. The Regulator was silent, his expression bored, eyes half closed.
Gideon placed the satchel I had retrieved from Roper on the table, pushing it across to the Grigori. “You’ll find everything in there that you lost.”
“The Church thanks you for such a prompt retrieval.” Fowler removed his leather gloves, tucking them into a pocket. Purple tendons stood out on the back of his thin hands, and his nails were clipped and polished. He pulled out the heavy silver ring, placing it on his little finger with a satisfied smile.
Gideon replied in a velvety voice. “I am delighted that my humble company was able to assist you.”
Fowler’s lips hitched upwards in the impression of a smile. It looked more like a grinning skull and I shivered. “The items have personal meaning to me and I thank you,” he responded in dulcet tones to match Gideon’s. “Not many Runner companies would be so obliging.”
“
Can you blame them?” I muttered under my breath.
Gideon flicked me a significant look, the kind that promised a bit of slapping around if I didn’t keep my mouth closed. He turned his attention back to Fowler. “Tell me, Father, what is it we can help you with today? Perhaps you could begin by explaining why you wanted to meet one of my employees so badly as to venture into this part of the city?”
“Me?” Crowhurst straightened in his chair, like he wasn’t surprised that clients were already asking for him. I went to give a suffering sigh, which got choked off when I realised the significance of what Gideon had said.
“Me?” I heard the shrillness in my voice, pulling my shoulders tight.
“Yes.” Fowler gave me an expectant look. “The surgeon at The Order’s hospital informed me recently a female Witch Hunter came across his table. But before he could alert anyone, she was whisked away by a rather ferocious otherkin.”
“Full-blood,” Gideon and I corrected in unison, knowing he was talking about Orella.
“My apologies,” Fowler nodded his head. “Full-bloods are so rare. An easy mistake to make.” Gideon waved a hand, dismissing the sensitive subject and Fowler continued. “I decided to investigate further about your little Lora Blackgoat here. To see if my surgeon was correct of her linage, as you’d understand it takes more than a distinctive hair colour to make a Witch Hunter.”
I kept my mouth shut. My words didn’t have the necessary silver touch that was needed in these situations. Gideon was the talker, though he had a reputation of putting his hoof in it. I tried to work my mind around my benefactor’s logic for taking on a Grigori priest for a client, but failed. Gideon was going to have to do some pretty fancy talking when this meeting was over. Or I was so going to tell Orella on him.
“How would your surgeon know what Lora is?” Crowhurst asked.
A sharp kick caught me in the shins and I yelped. Gideon casually lifted his wine glass, acting innocent. There was a brush of air by my leg and then Crowhurst winced in pain. Fowler pretended not to notice.
“The surgeon has the gift of Sight,” Fowler explained. “He was able to identify Lora. He has never been wrong.”
“Her blood line is uncertain,” Gideon said in his best reasonable tone. “Some say she has the scent of a Witch Hunter. But she has never shown any hunter skill.”
“She hunted down the thief who stole from me well enough,” Fowler pointed out.
“A skill taught to her by myself, utilising a well set-up network of snitches and spies,” Gideon countered.
“Have you ever given her the Apertor Elixir?” Fowler asked, tone reasonable. The name was foreign to me and I was surprised to see Gideon look offended.
“No. I have not,” he said, his voice bleating a little with impatience. “There was no point.”
“Her mother was Lennara Whitesmith, was she not?” Fowler queried.
“Yeees,” Gideon drew the word out, eyes becoming wary. “You are, of course, correct. We have no information on the father.”
“Left as a babe on the doorstep of Blackgoat Watch. Taken in by the infamous Gideon Blackgoat and cared for by Orella Warbreeder.” Fowler’s voice took a musing tone. “So generous of you, as a successful business man, to care for the girl all those years, when she was not your kin. Generous of you indeed. Most people would be tempted to place the child in an orphanage. A place where they are more equipped to deal with the rearing of a child…as opposed to those involved in the business of renting cut-throats and assassins.”
My eyes bounced from Gideon to Fowler, watching for any signals the meeting was going bad. Gideon’s line face was composed, but there was a twinkle in his eye, the one that came about when he was on guard. I kept the nephilim in my peripheral vision, wondering how fast he could move. His arms were crossed, sleeves folded to display large forearms and a dusky skin that looked warm to touch.
Gideon shifted in his seat, sipped his wine and smacked his lips theatrically. “There is a market for female mercenaries, Father. There’s a market for nearly anything if you know where to look.”
“How can you be certain she is not a Witch Hunter, when you are not aware of her parentage? I mean, her hair is the first red flag.”
“I am sure.” Gideon’s tone was flat. “Lora is my ward and so my word is final in this.”
Fowler’s sharp eyes moved to regard me. I tried not to frown back. “I suppose I wanted to be sure.” He spoke in a gentler voice, but with practised deliberation. “We have a great need for Witch Hunters within The Order, regardless of gender.”
Something cold and wicked traced its finger down my spine. I felt like a field mouse that’s realised they’ve attracted the attention of a hawk. Gideon was making a greater show of sipping more of his wine and being at ease.
“In spite of the uncertainty of her heritage,” Fowler was saying. “I would like a chance for her to be tested. Then, we will see if she displays any talent for the art of witch hunting. If it turns out she is in possession of such talent, I am prepared to offer you a contact for five years with full training. Double her current rate, of course.” He spread his palms wide, as if pleased with this show of generosity. “Though if it is as you say and she has none of the talents, Blackgoat Watch may still keep half the amount offered. I’m sure you’ll agree this is a beneficial offer for both of us.”
My breath came out in a rush. I caught a movement at the corner of my vision and my gaze was pulled towards the entrance. The Regulator was openly watching me, gaze curious. At the mention of the sum offered, Gideon had started to choke hard. Now he pounded at his chest, peering suspiciously into his wine glass, as though blaming it for his fit.
“That is indeed a small fortune,” Gideon finally managed. I could almost see his brain calculating behind his eyes.
“She’s not worth that, surely.” Crowhurst was staring at me as if I had sprouted another head. I looked to Gideon, wondering if he had suspected this was the theme of the meeting all along. True, I could do with my cut of the money being offered, but no amount would be worth working for The Order. Their history and reputation was bloody with the lives of full bloods and craftusers, guilty or not.
Bands of fear clamped around my chest and squeezed my breath. There were plenty of stories around Applecross of people refusing The Order’s requests, then disappearing the next day, never to be seen again.
Fuck Arthur Roper and his sticky fingers.
This had been a set-up, I guessed, giving Fowler had an excuse to meet me. If that were true, it had been a costly exercise and one that had cost Roper his life.
“You won’t find Lora very agreeable,” Gideon was saying. “Considering The Order’s rigid stance on craftusers. She has many associates from both sides of the craft.”
“Interesting that you allow her to associate with darkcraft users.” Fowler’s voice was light, and one side of his lip curled up so the threat could not be missed. Gideon did not reply, but began to rap his fingernails against the tabletop.
Fowler leant forward. “I know also that you are hard-pressed to find anyone eager to offer her employment, considering what she did to her last client.”
“I had no choice,” I protested to the table.
“Circumstances were beyond her control,” Gideon added smoothly. “Dangerous business, casting out spirits. If I’m not mistaken, also completely legal.”
“I won’t work for The Order,” I said. “Your Regulators think they’re a law unto themselves.” I stopped, realising I had risen to my feet without thinking. Crowhurst was sitting very still in his seat, gaze pinned on something behind me. My forearms prickled. I shifted my head, seeing the Regulator standing close behind me. I swallowed through a dry throat. I hadn’t even seen him move. A wave of heat pulsed from his body, warming my back. I sat back down stiffly, as if I wasn’t bothered the nephilim moved like a phantom.
“You’ll have to excuse Regulator Roman, Lady Blackgoat.” Fowler’s face was devoid of emotion. “He takes i
t personally when people start talking disrespectfully of The Order.” Fowler’s mouth eased into a razor sharp smile; the grinning skull returning. “The Order of Guides only hunt darkcraft users. Those who turn from the light. Does that not fit with your idea of justice? Would you have us leave those who wield darkcraft in peace to spread their filth? Spread their diseased minds to others? If we did not exist, who would bring darkcraft practitioners to justice? The greedy lawmakers of this city? The useless Council of Twelve? The impotent Craft Aldermen? Or a figurehead Mayor?”
I kept my mouth shut. I could almost imagine the nephilim’s heavy hands wrapping around my neck and throttling me for insulting the priest.
Fowler turned to Gideon. “Are you serious in turning down my offer? It is more than generous.”
I heard a soft sound and checked behind me. The Regulator had stepped away, though not far enough for my liking.
“I could not allow it.” Gideon swiped a hand across his forehead, as if he had begun to sweat heavily. “Lora is like a daughter to me. I could not, in good conscience accept your offer.” He winced, as if in pain, then managed, “There are some things worth more than money, I suppose.”
Relief made me light-headed. I wasn’t being thrown to the wolves just yet, though I was horrified at Fowler’s suggestion that my view was inconsequential. Surely they couldn’t force me to work for them, could they? Fowler stared at Gideon and the moment drew out. Gideon remained silent, his face neutral. Fowler got to his feet abruptly, face pinched tight.
“I see we have nothing more to discuss.” He pulled his gloves back on. I sensed his anger, bristling close beneath the surface. Glancing behind me, I saw the Regulator at the entrance, his cowl pulled back up as he waited for the priest. Though his face was in shadow, I caught a glimpse of a frown on his face.
Gideon got to his feet also, adjusting his creased suit. “I’m sorry you came all this way for nothing, Father Fowler.”
“It is of no consequence,” he replied with an airy wave of his hand. “It does me good to see the depravity in Applecross. It reminds me what our fight against the heretics is all about.” He turned and walked briskly out of the saloon. The Regulator followed with a single glance back at me, then was gone. Gideon watched them depart, then sat back down and slapped the table.
Chaos Born Page 9