“I can see you’ve put on some weight.”
“I’m not the only one,” Morious chuckled, eyeing my hips. I stood a little taller, pulling my stomach in and deciding I would not be provoked. Morious noticed Seth for the first time and the smile slipped off his face. “This one looks a little long in the tooth to be a virgin sacrifice.”
“A virgin in this city?” I asked. “You’d have to import them these days. This is a friend.”
“And what is the name of your friend?” Morious asked.
“Captain Hallow,” Seth said in a strangled voice.
“What’s wrong with you?” I frowned at him.
“You’ve just summoned a hellspawn, Lora.” Seth was rubbing his chest, like something heavy was sitting on him. “Do you know how much trouble you could get in for this?”
“Only if someone in authority finds out.”
“I am someone in authority.”
I patted his arm. “Yes, but you’re also an accomplice.”
Seth’s mouth worked some more, eyes angry. I let him work that one out, turning back to Morious, who was squinting at the ground. “Tell me, Sarqious,” he said in an absent voice, “I smell death.” He looked up, his expression sly, glancing from Seth to myself. “A priest went mad? Went on a bloody rampage?”
“Who’s Sarqious?” I asked.
Morious’s eyes glistened like rocks at the bottom of a pool, his face wiped of emotion. “Forgive me. I meant, Lady Blackgoat.”
I glanced at Seth, seeing if the name meant anything to him, but he just stared back at me, looking angrier than I’d ever seen him. “Some priests were killed here,” I said, turning back to Morious. I didn’t have time for whatever hang up Seth had. He would just have to deal. “Their blood was used for a Calling Circle.”
“Odd location, but not unheard of,” Morious said. “Some believe to desecrate sacred places with the touch of death, fuels darkcraft magic and rituals. Of course, this place was tainted to begin with.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Can we just hurry this up?” Seth snapped. “Someone might come along. You don’t have anyone guarding the front. You just didn’t plan this at all, did you?”
“Will you relax?” I snapped, then addressed Morious. “The Calling Circle was apparently burnt into the stone.”
“A powerful spell was cast then.” Morious nodded his head gravely.
“There was also a single footprint, burnt the same way, coming from it. What do you make of that?”
Morious’s face flickered with surprise, then a gummy grin split his face. “Someone plays a merry joke with you.”
“I have my doubts.” I glanced at Seth, but his face was withdrawn and impassive. I debated how much more to reveal. If I wanted information, I would have to confide some things. Morious’s trade was information and gossip, or a fresh soul, as he had informed me when I had first summoned him for help, three years ago. I had informed him that souls were off the menu and we had come to other arrangements.
“So you suspect…what?” Morious’s eyes glittered with amusement.
Clearing my throat, I glanced at Seth again. He refused to meet my eyes, mouth set in an unhappy line. “There is a certain theory that a hellspawn passed over.”
Morious barked a laugh, slapping a knobby knee. “Oh yes? How would I not know of such a feat then?”
“There are citizens being murdered, their bodies mutilated in very specific ways,” I tapped the middle of my forehead. “The killer stabs a hole between the eyes and takes the hands and feet. Sometimes there are teeth marks on the flesh.”
Morious rubbed his stomach. “Ooh. Sweetmeat, seasoned with a pretty soul. I suppose you could be forgiven for thinking some of our brothers or sisters were terrorising your lands. Hands and feet are quite delicious. But it cannot be true. You say the impossible has happened. Perhaps you underestimate how brutal your fellow citizens can be. My kind being framed, perhaps.” He stuck a thumb over the point between his eyes. “Did you know hellspawn have their hearts between their eyes, in place of a soul? In demon biology, it’s called the Anjam pressure point. The slang term is the dim-mak, or the death point. Maybe you have a killer who thinks he’s destroying demons.” Morious cleared his throat. “Of course, that’s information not widely known. Consider it a freebie morsel of information.”
“So, what are you saying? You think someone’s going around thinking they’re a demon hunter?” I raised an eyebrow.
Morious shrugged. “Perhaps. There is nothing unusual happening in the Hell Lands that I know of.”
“Do you think it would be possible though?” I pressed. “There was a blood moon in the skies recently. I heard it might have made the craft a little unstable.”
“Ahh, yes. The moon and the rift.” Morious gave me a lecherous wink, looped his fingers on one hand and poked a finger through the hole suggestively. “Making the moon bleed red. A union of light and dark. Bad things can happen at these times. Well, bad for some.”
I felt my frustration rise. Seemed even Morious had nothing to offer. The hellspawn caught my look and gave a long-suffering sigh. “Let it not be said that Morious the Fiend leaves his clients unsatisfied. There is no harm in telling you.” He gave me a rueful look. “You mention the blood moon. I tell you yes, something has happened, that affects all of The Weald.”
“Yes?” My hopes rose.
“Since the blood moon, the ley-lines have swayed.” Morious linked his fingers and made a wave like motion that looked a little disco. “Rippling in unpredictable ways. Perhaps your warlock found a doorway, a spell to take advantage of this. This church here, it sits on a ley-line knot. I can smell it in the air.” Morious scooped some air towards his nose, sniffing theatrically. “It’s like a fine wine. Very rare, very rare. A place of great power.” He sighed. “One that goes to waste on the stale religion of The Higher Path.”
“Wait. What do you mean about a knot?” I asked.
“A knot of the ley-lines,” Seth supplied. “Anon’s balls, Lora, didn’t Orella teach you anything useful? It’s a pinpoint of power.”
Seth stepped forward, unfolding a piece of paper. He held it up to the hellspawn. “This symbol is connected to these deaths. Do you recognise this?”
Morious leant as far as he dared, careful not to lean over the Calling Circle. He squinted at the paper. “Looks like a call sign.”
“A call sign?” I repeated blankly.
“Yes, you know, or a tag,” Morious supplied. “You know, like, ‘I waz ‘ere’.”
I tried to grab the piece of paper but Seth held it out of my reach. “Any other surprises you want to let me in on?” I managed to grab the paper off him and I squinted at the drawing. It was a sketch of a six-pointed star with a few other wiggly marks around it. “How is this connected?”
“It was written on the floor in blood,” Seth said.
“I’m surprised the Grigori shared this with you.” I stared some more at the symbol and wondered what Orella could make of it.
“I had a source who was willing to share one or two extra bits of information,” Seth said.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?” I waved the piece of paper angrily at him.
“I wasn’t sure I could trust you.” Seth’s eyes were shadowed.
“You can trust me as much as I can trust you.”
Morious gave a theatrical yawn. “Why don’t you two get a room?”
Seth and I both glared at him. Morious smiled at us and said, “It does look like a signature. You could probably find a reference book somewhere, look it up.” He scratched at his scalp and flakes of blue skin fluttered loose. “Just a hunch, of course. For that matter, if you want to theorise about hellspawn running about Harken, why don’t you read The Key of Aldebaran?”
Seth gave a short laugh. I searched my memory, coming up with nothing. “What’s the Aldebaran?”
“An old grimoire of magic,” Seth said. “It’s nonsense, there’s not
hing in it.”
“You dismiss it too quickly.” Morious wagged a finger at him. “There are cults who have based their central belief around its teachings.”
“What good is a book with spells that don’t work?” Seth asked.
“True, the magic is so far mainly theoretical,” Morious said. “It contains spells on how to control chaos magic.”
“Okay. Another question: what’s chaos magic?” I asked, curious.
“It’s what came before magic was harnessed by words,” Morious explained. “A book like The Key of Aldebaran, maybe if someone found a key to unlock the spells inside…well, who knows what is possible then?”
“Wait,” I said. “If you can control the magic, how is it chaos?”
Morious gave a short laugh. “Perhaps ‘harnessed’ is a better word. I know, it all sounds a little farfetched. Your handsome friend is correct. The Aldebaran is one of those books that promises the world and tends to deliver nothing.” He shrugged. “But…hellspawn in The Weald? That would require something very unusual.”
“Might be an avenue to look at.” I thought of the Harken City Public Library. They had little in the way of books of magic. There was only one place in the city I knew might have a copy, and that was the library at the Order of Guides compound.
“I suggest you find yourself a copy and read it.” Morious scratched his head again. “There’s one of those flouncy prophecies in the beginning. I don’t remember what it was about, but it might help you.”
“Thanks for the info,” I said, pinching some salt from a pouch.
Morious gave a pointed cough. “There’s just the matter of my fee, Lady Blackgoat?”
“Sorry,” I said. I bent over, reaching into the satchel and pulling out a small parcel wrapped in waxed paper. Peeling back the wet layers, I wrinkled my nose at the fleshy maggots wriggling and burrowing in the heavy horse-heart. Morious had once tried to explain about the allure of rotten meat, but when he had started getting too specific, I’d shut him down. There is such a thing as too much ick factor, sometimes.
With a careful throw, I tossed the meat to Morious. He caught it and shoved the whole thing in his mouth, chewing furiously. I re-pinched the salt, throwing it on the circle of blood. The granules crackled and spat, altering the spell and breaking it.
Morious gave a small yelp, then his form and the Calling Circle of goat’s blood turned to ash with a sizzle. The smell of frying meat salted the air and I kicked the ash around so it didn’t resemble a circle so much, just a big dirty smudge of nothing. I picked up my satchel and turned to leave, waving the piece of paper around.
“Can I borrow this? I’m going to ask Orella if she recognises it.”
Seth reached out, snagging the crook of my arm. “Not so fast.”
“What’s the problem?” I slipped the paper into one of my pockets.
A muscle in Seth’s jaw twitched. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?” I opened my eyes wide and innocent-like.
His free hand clenched and for a startled moment, I thought he was going to hit me. I tensed, but Seth took a deep breath, speaking between gritted teeth. “Only fresh blood can activate a Calling Circle. The blood you used was old. And that spell didn’t even smell like darkcraft.” He made a grab for my satchel. “The book you had, where did you get it from?”
“None of your business.” I yanked my arm out of his grasp and hurried down the aisle, jamming my hat low. I hoped Seth wasn’t going to rat me out about my little book of darkcraft. My ears were tuned sharply for sounds of him following me, but I heard nothing. By the time I reached the doors, I glanced behind me to see the church empty.
Chapter 14
The exorcism had been scheduled for late afternoon the next day. I turned up with Orella and Maddock to a grand looking house that sat close to Avalon Square.
A storm that had been threatening the day finally passed, and the smell of ozone receded, leaving a sweeping cold wind in its wake. I adjusted the satchel on my shoulders and watched as Orella thumped on the front door a second time. She stood back to crack her swollen knuckles and scowl at the door. Crowhurst stood behind me, looking around at the front courtyard with a lazy expression. He wore a highwayman coat and wide-brimmed hat. “Posh sort of place,” he commented to me. “If you’d like this kind of life.”
I checked out his coat and hat. “You look like a cowboy.”
His mouth hitched up like I’d paid him a compliment, which I supposed I had. Figuring I was getting soft, I turned. The door opened a crack. A dishevelled man with pockmarked skin peered out, staring us up and down. “State your business.”
Orella humphed a little before answering. “Orella Warbreeder from Blackgoat Watch. The Lady of the House is expecting us.” She narrowed her eyes, as if challenging him to disagree. The man wet his lips, blinked a few times and then stepped back, opening the door wider and motioning us inside. His guarded expression crumbled into fatigue.
“My name is Davis,” he said. “I am the family’s personal secretary.” He watched us as we walked past him into a cavernous entrance hall, paved with white marble and dotted with green ferns in china pots. “Why are there so many of you?”
“I’ll be performing the ritual,” Orella told him. Davis clutched at his head, as if the word ‘ritual’ was too much for him. Orella motioned towards me with a sharp gesture. “This is my assistant, Lora.”
“And this fine man—” I indicated Crowhurst with an airy wave, “is my reliable and irrepressible man-servant.”
“Colleague,” Crowhurst corrected with the air of a long-suffering man.
Orella shot me a look and I wiped the smirk off my face. Davis motioned for us to follow him up a grand staircase that curled to the second floor. “The Lady of the House is upstairs. I will take you to her.”
Around us, the house was silent, with no one else to be seen. A misplaced energy sat heavy in the air with a low level hum and it tasted like copper. My nerves strung tight and sweat broke out in the palms of my hands. A shriek of laughter shattered the silence and Davis stammered a short prayer under his breath
“How long ago did this happen?” Orella’s voice had gone quiet with an edge of steel.
Davis passed a trembling hand across his face. “She fell in with a bad crowd, none of whom were known to her parents.”
Orella followed Davis up the staircase. “Who is present in the house right now?”
“The Lady of the House and her personal priest are upstairs,” Davis replied. “All the servants have been dismissed until this ugly episode is over. I am the only other person in the house.”
“What faith is the Lady of the House?” Crowhurst asked.
“The Higher Path, of course,” Davis hesitated. “There is also a man who waits with them. He claimed to be with your party.”
Orella frowned. “What does he look like?”
“Rather odd, when you look close enough.”
“Gideon.” I exchanged a look with Orella. “What’s that old goat doing here?”
Davis had stopped on the second step of the staircase, looking back at us. “I am also concerned on the issue of confidentiality.”
“You can be assured of our discretion,” I assured him.
“So I have been told…repeatedly by your man upstairs,” he muttered. “I need to know that you understand the implications of this situation.”
Orella grunted and I took my cue from her to nod at Davis confidently. A human face was often required to set the High Town folk at ease.
We ascended the staircase and my eyes were drawn to a large portrait on the wall. It was of a toadlike man dressed in a ghastly pink doublet and a feather-topped broad hat. I frowned, thinking he looked mighty familiar. As Orella and Davis reached the top of the staircase, I leant back to Crowhurst, speaking from the corner of my mouth. “Do you know who the guy in the painting is?”
“The Mayor,” Crowhurst replied softly. “This must be one of his homes.”
/> My eyebrows rose. Gideon had suggested the client was important, but I was still surprised. As far as I knew, the Mayor was a devout follower of The Higher Path.
“Are you coming?” Davis had halted at the top of the stairs in a way that suggested he wanted to go no further. Orella was breathing heavily and began to cough into a hanky. I quickened my pace, Crowhurst clipping at my heels. At the top of the staircase, a long hallway stretched before us with closed doors on the left.
Once at Orella’s side, I put a hand on her shoulder, silently asking if she was okay. She shrugged my hand off with an impatient sound and hurried after Davis who was now halfway down the hallway. He stopped outside the last door. His hand trembled as he began to turn the handle, jumping in fright when Orella hissed for him to wait. The door swung open a crack and an oppressive atmosphere seeped out, smelling bleak and hostile. Even the door itself radiated an uncomfortable warmth. Davis’s face had gone a little green and I felt an unexpected wave of sympathy for the man. Exorcisms weren’t my idea of a good time either.
“Pit firesss…”
Heat blasted from the room at this proclamation and the air filled with a stream of gibberish words. A man’s voice chanted over this, uncertainty and disgust making his voice shake.
“The priest is doing all he can,” Davis said. “But it is having no effect.”
Orella put a finger to her lips, motioning for him to be silent. From inside the room the voice raised to a shout. “In the name of our Lord of The Higher Path, I cast you out!”
I listened to the demon’s loose chatter. Since I knew Hellspeak, I expected to hear curses and threats. Instead, it sounded like a recipe for chicken soup. The word’s had a purpose though, trying to terrify those who heard it.
The door opened wide and Gideon appeared, dressed in a burgundy jacket with a cravat the colour of butterscotch and his fez sitting straight. He closed the door quietly behind him. “You all took your sweet time.” He dabbed at his brow with a lace handkerchief.
Orella’s face got that pinched look, the one I liked to avoid causing. “Gideon. I didn’t know you were going to be here. Checking up on me?”
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