Chaos Born

by Rebekah Turner

  Morgan had been covered with a grey sheet and a few blooms of blood had soaked through.

  Seth hunkered down by the body, pulling the sheet back. Morgan had multiple bite marks that had ripped her dress. Her arms ended at ragged, bloody stumps, white bone peeking through the gristle.

  “Tell me what you remember.” Seth was inspecting the bite marks on her torso. I stared at the bloodied end of Morgan’s neck. A voice shouted in my mind, asking where her head was and why someone would take it.

  “You alright?” Seth stood, stepping over to me. He put his hands on my arms and pulled me away from the body, trying to shield me from the crowds. He placed a gentle hand around my waist.

  “This is my fault.” I felt sick. The gin suddenly felt like a bad idea as it churned in my stomach. Saliva filled my mouth as I thought more about Morgan’s missing head. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand a few times. “I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

  Seth’s amber eyes were filled with concern. “Just to be clear, I don’t think this was the work of Benjamin the Bloody.” He glanced at the furry pieces of the dog I’d cut up. “You told the first Constable on the scene the dog attacked you.”

  My eyes fixed on Seth’s mouth, not wanting to see the rest of his face, not wanting to see the worry there. “That’s right.”

  “Lora, its flesh is rotting. You’re suggesting a dead dog attacked you.”

  “Maybe it had a skin condition.”

  His hands tightened. “Don’t do that. Don’t make jokes.”

  “Do you think it was the Butcher of Applecross?” I managed to lift my eyes to meet his.

  Seth looked down at the body. “You can see the skin on the neck is torn, not cut. This isn’t the work of an assassin.”

  “Hellspawn,” I said. A yearning filled me, wanting to be close to him to feel the warmth of someone alive and healthy.

  Seth turned back to me, his voice a whisper. “Promise me you’ll be careful until I’ve killed this monster.”

  The sick feeling grew stronger. I needed to be away from the crowds, away from Morgan’s dead body. I backed up, pulling away from his hands.

  “Wait, Lora,” Seth said. “I need to tell you one more thing. It’s important.”

  “Not now. I can’t take this anymore.”

  “But—”

  “Leave her be, Captain Hallow.” I turned to see Orella standing in doorway. “She needs a bath and some rest.”

  “She needs the truth, Orella Warbreeder,” Seth said in a low voice.

  A nasty expression passed over Orella’s face. “We all need truth, Captain Hallow. Tell me your secrets, I’ll tell you mine.”

  “Stop it, both of you,” I snapped. With a sigh, I trudged up the front steps and into my house. A bath. Now that sounded like the ticket. Whatever issue Orella and Seth had with each other, I really didn’t care at this point.

  “Lora, I’ll have some men watch your house for a while,” Seth called after me. “Just to be sure.”

  I didn’t reply and heard Orella slam the door shut. Seems no one believed me when I said I could look after myself. I was beginning to wonder if I really could.

  Chapter 18

  I camped out in my sitting room, a blanket tucked around me, trying not to doze off. My fireplace was unlit and the room was cold and full of lengthening shadows from the descending sun. A bottle of gin sat on the ground beside the lounge chair, nearly empty. My work-belt was strapped around my waist, salt pockets loosened and ready. Exhaustion dragged at my eyelids and I blinked heavily at the tangerine sunset that streamed through my front windows.

  Morgan’s body had been removed around noon by the city corpse wagon. Orella had gone with them to make arrangements, ordering me to rest. I’d slept for a few hours, waking to find a note under the front door from Gideon, saying he’d dropped by to check on me and he’d come by again later.

  I didn’t have the energy to cook, though I was hungry. The gin hadn’t helped. Now I was feeling very much alone, as if the very heart of my home had been extinguished. I was shocked at how much I had come to rely on Morgan’s company over the years. Had I turned into a lonely spinster when I wasn’t looking?

  I massaged my hands, sore from scrubbing the hexes from all the doors and windows in the house. If Morgan’s killer wanted to come back and try again, I’d be waiting. Then I would kill them or die trying. Of course, if it was hellspawn we were talking about, then I was probably going to die horribly. I liked my eyes and heart right where they were, but acting like bait was the best plan I could come up with.

  My eyes strayed over to Lacrone’s package. It sat by the fireplace, wrapped back up in the hessian it had arrived in. Inside were two broken flagstones with burn marks on them. If you squinted and tilted your head, they looked almost like a footprint. Just like Caleb had said. Why Lacrone thought they were of any value to me was a mystery. As far as clues went, this was just confirming something I already suspected. The flagstones certainly weren’t worth his asking price.

  My eyelids drooped closed. Sleep whispered in my ear and my limbs became heavy. A breeze brushed my face, carrying the scent of pollen and grass in the sun, and I knew I was dozing off into a gentle dreamscape. With a jerk, I blinked my eyes open and saw my surroundings were obscure, everything blurred in a soft landscape as I hovered somewhere between asleep and awake. I sensed a presence behind me, and heard it speak my name. A bone-dry whisper came by my shoulder and fingernails scrabbled in my hair. I opened my mouth to scream, and woke with a startled jerk. Blinking, I found it was past twilight and the house was in darkness. I shivered and pulled the blanket up around my shoulders. I reached down for the gin, but paused when a tickle like a caress of feathers ran down my back. I stood slowly, eyes fixed on the dark kitchen. I was almost sure I’d seen something move. Cloth rustled behind me and my heart lurched. My limbs were slow from sitting for too long and I was caught: arms with lead-like muscles looped around me, holding me tight.

  “Don’t scream, or I will hurt you.” The voice was male, and hot breath tickled my ear. “I just came to talk.”

  “Sure. Let’s talk.” I waited a beat, then jerked my head back. There was a dull crack as the back of my skull contacted with bone. My intruder grunted in pain and the arms loosened. Twisting free, I spun and bought my knee up. The intruder moved, my knee missed its target. I followed through, my fist shooting up to catch the man under the chin. My knuckles made solid contact and my arm jarred painfully.

  The shadow stumbled.

  I lunged for my cane, my fingers scraping air as the intruder yanked my hair, making me shriek. I reached behind me, feeling for eyes or a weak spot. Then I was roughly spun, and pulled into a tight embrace. The intruder’s shadowed face stared down at me.

  “You don’t listen too well.” Blinking a few times, I realised I recognised the voice. The tattooed nephilim from The Scarlet Wren. “Stop attacking me.” His voice was a low rumble. “I didn’t come to hurt you.”

  My fingers wormed into a pocket and I pinched some salt. My arms were trapped by my side, so I just flicked it, hissing a stinging-needle curse. There was a fiery spitting sound about crotch level, then the nephilim gave a pained shout, releasing me and doubling over. I kicked him in the shins and I was free. Racing for the front door, I didn’t get far before he caught me again, shoving me against the nearest wall. The force knocked the breath out of me, clacking my teeth together and sending a shockwave down my spine. My lame leg shuddered, hot pain flaring in my hip.

  The nephilim held me tight, his dark face filling my vision. He was breathing hard and fast and he looked furious. I went to scream, a last bloody resort for me, but the nephilim clamped a heavy hand over my mouth. The other fumbled at my waist, pulling at my clothes, his face taking on a look of concentration. My breath caught as my shirt came undone and I struggled harder, raw panic rising to choke me. Then the buckle on my work-belt gave with a click and the nephilim hurled it across the room. He removed his hand
from my mouth and grasped my wrists, pulling them over my head. He leant in close until I felt his breath on my face.

  “I thought I told you, attacking a Regulator is a crime.” His head moved closer, as if scenting me. The warmth from his body blasted against mine, thawing the chill of fear. “Even for an untrained Witch Hunter.”

  “You don’t scare me, Regulator.”

  White teeth shone in the gloom. “Pity. Might have made you smarter.”

  “Is this what you came for? To exchange threats and pithy remarks?” I snapped.

  He gave an amused snort, then clamped an enormous hand around the back of my neck and pushed me to the kitchen. I nearly fell over a chair in the dark and grabbed it. I sat down, my initial fear fading. I heard the clicking of the kitchen light ignition button, then a warm yellow light spread through room.

  I debated about calling for help, but curiosity had taken root. The nephilim leant against the kitchen counter, his coal-black eyes moving over me. His gaze locked on my chest and I shifted uncomfortably, glancing down. I was wearing loose cotton pants and a shirt. Good fighting clothes. Of course, not so good if you forget to do up half the buttons on your shirt and your boobs are half hanging out. My fingers moved stiffly to do them up and cover myself.

  My cheeks flushing, I stared icily at the Regulator. He was wearing his uniform and his cloak was open, silver daggers crossed his chest. A whip was hooked on his left hip, a wheellock pistol holstered on his right and the hilt of his sword peered over one shoulder.

  “You’ve got my attention, Regulator. What do you want?” It occurred to me then he had come to murder me, sent by the Grigori with the sinister smile. Retribution for turning down their offer. I reminded myself it was unlikely, since I was still breathing.

  “My name is Roman.”

  “I remember.”

  “I hold rank of Sergeant within The Order.” He stepped towards me and leant over, placing one hand on the back of my chair, the other flat on the table. The closeness of him made it hard for me to think, my brain flat lining as I took in his finely sculpted lips, broad cheekbones and heavy gaze.

  I’d never tried to read the aura of a nephilim, so I narrowed my eyes at him, giving it a go. But all I could make out was a muted glow of cloudy grey that didn’t mean anything. My inability to read him left me with an uneasy prickly sensation behind my eyes. I blinked until the sensation faded. Roman stiffened. He snatched out a hand out, grabbing both my wrists. He turned my hands over, his strong fingers digging into my skin. He looked down at my empty hands. “What did you do?”

  “Nothing.” I winced at the strength in his hands. “Ease up, big boy, you’re damaging the goods.”

  He gave a start and let me go instantly, as if he hadn’t realised his strength. I tried to figure out how’d he known I was trying to read him. He sat down across from. “I felt you try to do something, but you have not casting agent in your hands. How is that possible?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Roman stared at me for a beat. My eyes traced the rune tattoos on his face, and I wanted to ask what they meant. I bit the question back. What did it matter?

  “Why do you have guards around your house?” he asked.

  “What guards?”

  “They’re hidden, but there, watching this house.”

  I was surprised that Gideon had wasted so much in resources, considering Seth had patrols stomping by every half hour, getting heckled by streetwalkers. “How’d you get past them?”

  “No one was guarding your roof.” He grinned. “That tree outside your window is handy.”

  I rubbed my eyes, realizing my honey trap had caught me more than I’d bargained for. “Alright, Regulator, like I said, you’ve got my attention. What do you want?”

  His eyes roamed the dimly lit kitchen before settling back on me. “I’ve come seeking your help tonight.”

  This, I was not expecting. “I sure am popular,” I said, pretending my heart hadn’t started drumming double time. I was pretty sure whatever he wanted, I was going to say no. “What would a big, tough Sergeant need my assistance for?”

  He shifted back in his chair. “The kind of assistance that needs to be confidential.”

  “Ah.” I arched an eyebrow. “So, this is an unauthorised visit, then? No Grigori at the end of your lead?”

  He ignored the jibe, folding his large hands over each other and resting them on the table. “You’d have heard about the Saint Pendergrast massacre? Where a nephilim supposedly suffered from a berserker rage?”

  “I didn’t think it was a matter of ‘supposedly’.”

  The angular planes on his face hardened, the tattoos shifting. “You don’t understand.”

  “I think it’s more that I don’t care. Just tell me what you want, then leave.”

  “The nephilim’s name was Aiden. My second-in-command. He was also my friend.”

  I heard the grief in his voice echo my own over Morgan, like a throb of sorrow. For a strange moment, I felt a connection with this frightening Regulator. I eyed the emotion warily, not sure whether to trust it.

  “Everyone has just assumed he was guilty,” Roman said. “That he was a traitor, dabbling in darkcraft until his mind broke. But I knew Aiden. He would never have committed the crimes they accuse him of. He was my friend, so I’ve been doing my own investigations. I have a name of someone who might have information about that night. A darkcraft witch by the name of Andela of Arcanus.”

  I was so surprised, I snorted. Everyone in Applecross knew who Andela was. Her nickname was the Spider Witch. Even Orella wouldn’t willingly cross her. I’d heard her signature kill was to make her victim’s head explode. “Of course Andela would probably know,” I said. “She knows most rotten things that happen in the city. You’re nuts if you think you could find her, let alone get information.”

  “There are ways to make people talk.”

  I played along. “I won’t argue that, but you’re not involving me with your suicide mission.”

  Something that looked like doubt or worry flashed across Roman’s face, then was gone. “Let me worry about that,” he said. “The men from my unit are waiting for us near the Avalon Square. I need your help, so you are coming with me.”

  “Just what do you think I can do for you? I don’t know where Andela’s coven is.”

  “You’re a Witch Hunter, aren’t you?” he asked flatly.

  “I see.” This time I got it, and I realised the Regulator was crazier than I thought.

  “Yes?”

  “Yeah. I see you’re a raving lunatic.”

  Roman opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “What’s wrong with your own Witch Hunter? Did he tell you to take a flying leap as well?”

  “All Witch Hunters have been suspended from active duty. Something to do with the ley-lines and magic being unreliable.”

  “Well, nuts to that. I’m still not going with you. And here’s why.” Raising a hand, I ticked off some points. “Number one: Andela would make a French tickler out of my scalp, just for shits and giggles. Number two. Maybe you missed some of the conversation I had with your Grigori boss. You know, where I explained I wasn’t a Witch Hunter.”

  “Father Fowler believes you to be a Witch Hunter.”

  “He’s wrong. Not to mention really, really creepy.”

  “Father Fowler is beyond reproach.” Roman’s eyes took on a dangerous glint. I raised my hands defensively. “Okay. He’s a saint. But he’s a saint who’s wrong.”

  “You are going to help me. Regardless.” A smile that was a little sinister twisted his mouth. “Unless you want Blackgoat Watch to be under the scrutiny of The Order? Or perhaps a few Regulators to visit your teacher, the old elf-witch, Orella Warbreeder. I hear she is not averse to delving into the dark arts when it suits her.”

  I stood abruptly. The back of my knees hit the chair, knocking it over. Roman stayed seated, black eyes glittering in the yellow light. “I don’t res
pond well to threats,” I told him.

  Roman’s gave me a sad look, as if he knew something I didn’t. “Your enemies will always be able to manipulate you when you have family.”

  Thinking of Morgan, I said nothing, just stared at an empty spot on the table. Hellfires, I wasn’t going to argue with him on that point.

  “Will you help me, Lady Blackgoat?” he asked softly.

  “This was your plan? Threaten me and hope for the best?”

  “I thought I provided sufficient motivation.”

  “And if I told you I didn’t know the first thing about witch hunting?”

  “You look like a quick learner.” Roman shrugged. “And I have some Apertor Elixir.”

  “Your shitty elixir won’t work on me if I don’t have Witch Hunter blood.”

  “So you say. Let’s find out.”

  “Why don’t you take it?” I said. “Sniff out your own witch?”

  “It is forbidden for the nephilim to drink it.”

  “In case you haven’t been paying attention, the ley-lines aren’t working right,” I said. “You think I want to risk my own life for your cause?”

  “I’m willing to take that chance.”

  “You mean me, right? You’re willing for me to take a chance, right?”

  “Whichever way you look at it.” Roman stood and his bulk seemed to fill my kitchen. His eyes narrowed, the rune tattoos crinkling. “I’m not leaving without you.”

  I opened my mouth to protest some more, then shut it as something occurred to me. It was insane to think we could find Andela, get information and then leave with our skins intact. Then logic tapped me on the shoulder, reminding me I had no clues, no avenues. All I had was sitting at home, doing my impersonation of a worm on a hook.

  Roman’s search for the killer of his friend could be my best avenue at this point. Find the warlock, find the hellspawn. Though, I was assuming in the most hopeful way that we wouldn’t find Andela. You didn’t look for the Spider Witch, she found you. Then she would rip out her dues. I hoped these Regulators had no idea where she was. I sure didn’t know. Of course, even if I had a map with a big freaking X marking the spot of her coven, I wouldn’t take Roman there. I liked my head in the shape it was. However, if I could convince the Regulator I was helping, then it would be a favour owed. After all, he did have access to inside The Order’s library.