Chaos Born

by Rebekah Turner

  “You alright?” Roman’s voice was in my ear. I felt something shoved in my hands and almost sobbed with relief, recognising the grooves of my cane.

  “Never better.” Some strength returned to my leg and I pulled away, hacking and coughing. I glanced up to see some of the crowd had come back, faces cautiously triumphant. My vision swam as I tried stay on my feet. Where was our backup? I straightened my aching spine, my lame leg giving me a warning tremble that it wasn’t going to last much longer. I glanced around the pit for the red-skinned hellspawn. “Where is she?”

  “Your twelve o’clock,” Roman replied, voice tight. “She’s just watching us for now.”

  Rubbing dust out of my eyes, I saw Dyllon standing beside me. My leg wobbled and Roman’s hands touched my waist, as if ready to catch me. His easy strength was reassuring, but I knew the demon could pull us apart like we were fairy floss. I pushed myself away from Roman and drew the dagger from my vest. The hellspawn watched us closely, eyes cautious. I noticed the Regulator’s had their weapons and felt some small measure of surprise and relief. Guess Andela wanted to see a fair fight.

  Roman aimed his wheellock and fired a shot. The bullet took out one of the hellspawn’s knees. Red flesh and yellow bone exploded, splattering the dirt. The hellspawn screamed with rage, eyes becoming slits. Another crack split the air as Dyllon fired. The shot took the demon in the head and she fell to the ground with a heavy thud, a cloud of dust rising up around her. Not bothering to take the time to reload, Roman reholstered the weapon and raised his sword.

  “Is it dead?” Dyllon was so hyped he’d simply thrown his weapon on the ground and drawn his sword. He looked scared shitless. “I’ve never been this close to a hellspawn before.”

  “She isn’t dead,” I said. “Silver can bind them, but the only way to kill hellspawn is to chop off their heads.” I remembered Morious’s words about a demon’s death point and added, “I’ve heard they have a weak spot between the eyes. But I’m not sure.”

  A screeching laugh tore from the hellspawn’s throat and she rose with terrible quickness. Roman charged her with a roar and she turned to him with a scream of delight, opening her arms as if to welcome an old friend. I engaged the quick-draw and pulled the trigger, trying to aim for between the eyes. The gun clicked and jammed on me and I swore, shoving it back home. Drawing my sword, threw myself toward the hellspawn. Her attention changed instantly from the Regulators to me. She dodged Roman and hurled herself at me, eyes wild with excitement. Our bodies slammed together and I bounced back, hitting the ground hard. My sword was knocked loose from my hands, my hips jarring painfully.

  Then she was on top of me. I struggled as her hot, clawed hands dug into my arms. She shoved her face into mine, her lips parted in a wide smile. Her breath smelt like steam and burnt metal and a forked tongue coiled out, dripping hot, stinging saliva on my cheek. I clamped my hands around her thick neck. Bile rose in my throat as more steaming saliva dripped and scalded my face and neck. My arms trembled as I strained against her, knowing she was just playing with me.

  “Roman!” I yelled hoarsely. “Where the fuck are you?”

  I heard him say something. Then an arm looped around the demon’s neck. The hellspawn was pulled off me, but she quickly twisted free of Roman’s grip and jumped in the air, landing a few feet away on all fours, grinning wickedly.

  Roman’s sword thudded into her chest and she hissed in surprise, staggering back a few steps. Then the hellspawn chuckled, a gurgling sound, and pulled the blades free. She covered the space between us in blurring speed and jumped onto Roman’s shoulders. There, she let loose a triumphant howl as she grasped his neck, claws digging into his skin and drawing blood. Dyllon tried to pull her off, but she kicked at his face, her heel connecting solidly with his nose. Blood spurted and Dyllon fell back, dazed. Grunting, I hauled my sore, tired and filthy arse to my feet.

  This hellbitch was going down.

  Trying to avoid her slashing hands and feet, I ducked and snatched Roman’s whip from his belt. The handle was smooth in my grasp, the weight heavier than I expected. I stepped back, gripped tight and cast it out. The whip split the air with a crack, the blessed silver flying, seeking its prey. It found its mark and wound tight around the hellspawn’s neck, the steel spikes digging into her flesh. She shrieked in horror at the touch of the silver and fell from Roman’s shoulders, thrashing on the ground. Her thick, muscular limbs twisted in the dirt, rivulets of black liquid pouring from the silver wounds. A few droplets of this foul-smelling blood splattered my face and dripped off my cheek.

  I stepped closer to the twisting hellspawn with my sword. Her cries had turned to screams, clawed hands scrabbling uselessly in the dirt. I swallowed, my nerve faltering. A warm hand gently took the sword from my hand.

  “I’ll do it,” Roman said.

  Weariness seeped into my bones, the adrenaline of the fight wearing off. Roman walked over to the fallen hellspawn and lifted my sword. He murmured something that sounded like a prayer, then swung the blade down in a powerful blow.

  I felt something like pity for the demon, watching as her body split and erupted, turning to a sea of boiling liquid. Her limbs twitched and flayed till they lost their form, merging into a single pool of liquid fire that coloured the pit walls with an eerie orange glow. The stench of rotting eggs filled the air and Roman began to sneeze. I raised a tired eyebrow at him, holding out a hand for my sword.

  “I’m allergic to brimstone,” he answered my silent question, passing my sword back. He walked back to the remains of the hellspawn, picked up his own sword and wiped the blade against his leg.

  I shook my head and looked up towards the stage to see Andela standing at the edge of the stage, arms stiff by her sides.

  “We defeated your beast,” Roman shouted up at her. “Now you must answer my questions.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered at him. “That’s the tone you should be using with her. We’re still in this pit, you know.”

  Andela’s face twisted and I could actually feel the heat of her rage vibrating in waves. The air grew thick with a sudden dampness, cold crept into the room and a thin mist tumbled over the edge into the pit. It parted in streams around our legs, entwining in shallow pools. My breath began to fog as the mist got thicker, and the fury of a powerful witch began to manifest.

  “You killed my pet, nephilim.” Andela put another smoke between her lips, this time lighting it with a match. The small flame cast a glow on her face, creating sinister shadows. “I demand blood for the insult.”

  “You’re making a mistake,” I called up to her.

  “You don’t dictate my decisions, Lora Blackgoat.” Andela held the smoking cigarette between two fingers, absently picking a piece of tobacco off her lip. “You are not the Dreadwitch yet.”

  I frowned at the strange title, knowing enough that I didn’t like the sound of it. Yelling erupted somewhere above the pit and Andela stumbled forward with a surprised look, dropping her cigarette. She glanced behind her and I spied a dagger sticking out of her shoulder.

  “Finally.” Roman began searching for footholds in the walls of the pit.

  “They took their sweet time.” Dyllon cupped his hands around his mouth. “Down here!”

  Kruger appeared near Andela, his sword raised, face cautious. The witch stared at him, not seeming particularly bothered by the knife in her back. Something moved behind Kruger and he spun in time to get tackled by an otherkin, both going to the ground.

  I heard swords clashing and the cracking of pistols. Andela turned, her eyes only for me. “I will not seek my justice just yet, Lora Blackgoat and I expect you to remember this act of mercy in the years to come.”

  Kruger had gotten free of the otherkin, dispatching him with a vicious thrust of his sword. He advanced on Andela, limping. Roarke appeared, sword in his hands and a smirk on his face. Andela gave a snort of contempt and something sprinkled from her fingers as they came for her. Her body shimmered once, twice, and
then Andela of Arcanus disappeared, her body winking into nothing.

  Chapter 22

  Back at the coach, everyone took stock of injuries. There were no serious ones to report, other than some bruised egos. My body, however, ached all over. I touched my chest, wincing, and tried not to think about the dirt in my hair. With shaking fingers, I dug a cigarillo from a pocket. Slitting the cellophane with a small knife, I flicked a match and took my time lighting the end, the flame twitching as my hand shook.

  “Are you alright?” Roman’s hands hesitated over my shoulder, as if he wanted to check for injuries.

  I blew out a stream of steel-blue smoke, feeling my nerves settle a little. “I’ll live.”

  “We learnt nothing from this,” Kruger said.

  “That’s not true.” Roman’s eyes stayed on me. “The witch said you knew the type of monster we were hunting. What did she mean?”

  I hesitated, glancing around the faces of the Regulators, taking in their weariness, their disappointment. They wouldn’t believe me, but I had to try. “I had a theory that the Butcher of Applecross is hellspawn. Just like the one we killed. Only it’s passed over a Calling Circle and walking free.”

  There was silence as the Regulators exchanged looks. Roarke just rolled his eyes.

  “What proof do you have?” Roman asked.

  “I told you, it’s a theory. Based on the way the victims are being killed.”

  “What bullshit. This night was a big, fat waste of our time.” Roarke spat on the ground. “It nearly got us all killed.”

  “It was a chance we had to take.” Roman raised a hand, ruffling his short hair.

  “Why?” Roarke’s hands curled to fists, shoulders hitching in growing anger. “Because you want to prove Aiden’s innocence?”

  Roman frowned. “Aiden is innocent of the crimes laid against him.”

  “We would all follow you to The Pit and back, Sergeant,” Kruger said. “But we have to face facts. Aiden is dead, so you might never find the truth.”

  Roman glared at the grey-beard. “You think Brother Aiden was guilty?”

  “Of course he does!” Roarke threw his hands in the air. “You nephilim are all the fucking same. Good soldiers until you lose your fucking minds and kill everyone around you. You think – aaap!”

  Roarke gave shout of surprise as Dyllon slammed into him. Both males went to the ground, grunting as they fought, fists flaying wildly. Kruger and Roman yanked them apart and everyone paused, breathing heavily in the cold night. I wondered if this was a good time to make a hasty getaway before Roman realised I hadn’t returned his little flask of Apertor Elixir.

  Roman glanced at me, his grip tight on Dyllon. The look of raw anguish on his face stopped me from slipping into the shadows. I frowned at my hesitation. Did I really want to help this Regulator? It didn’t seem like all his marbles were rolling the right way. After all, why did he think Aiden was innocent? Didn’t he believe in the madness of his kind?

  Kruger let go of Roarke, who glared at Dyllon as he straightened his uniform. The grey-beard shook his head. “It’s late.” He addressed Roman, “We are still your men, Sergeant. No one will say anything about this night. But you must stop this line of investigation; no good can come of it.”

  Roman’s face was flat, emotions back in check, but I knew he was defeated, my theory so quickly dismissed by the others. The sight of him standing there, with that expressionless face shifted something inside me; I understood how that helpless anger felt.

  The Regulators climbed into the back of the coach, everyone ignoring me as I puffed my cigarillo and squinted at them through the smoke. Roman turned to me. I removed the amulet of protection and handed it back to him. He hesitated before taking it.

  “Don’t ask me for any more favours, Regulator.” I tapped some ash on the ground. Just because I felt sorry for the guy, didn’t mean I had to be nice. “And don’t say thank you.”

  One corner of his lip curled up under a pair of bitter eyes. “I won’t.”

  “Fine,” I said, offended. I mean, he could have at least tried to thank me.

  “Get in.” Roman jerked his head towards the coach.

  I shook my head, stepping back. “No thanks. I’ll make my own way home.”

  Roman hesitated, then turned and stepped into the coach, slamming the door behind him. Roarke was sitting in the drivers perch next to Gore, watching me with a leer and sucking on his gold tooth. “You ever feel like a date, Witch Hunter,” he said, “You let me know.”

  “Don’t you ever shut up?” Gore glanced at Roarke with a frown.

  Biting down on the tobacco to stop from saying anything I’d regret, I gave the Regulators my back and walked away.

  Chapter 23

  Unable to find a rickshaw, I struggled towards home, leaning on my cane. My lame leg dragged and I was getting blinded by the soft peachy sunrise before me, my eyes gritty and sore from lack of sleep.

  I wondered if I should tell Orella what had transpired with Andela, since news would get around anyway. I just couldn’t wait for that conversation.

  The inside of my house was quiet and relief settled on me like a warm blanket. I picked up the gin from beside the armchair and ambled into the kitchen, taking a swig. Sitting down at the kitchen table, I tried to find the will to draw a bath. Andela’s words had taken seed in my mind and I couldn’t shake the sense of dread they stirred. It was the second reference to the Aldebaran and, while Andela hadn’t provided any answers, I knew it was time to find a copy of that book.

  I pulled out the small flask of Apertor Elixir I’d nicked from Roman. There wasn’t much left and I wondered why only the Witch Hunter’s used it. Since it had worked for me, it was a good bet it would work for anyone and it was potent stuff, and had nearly blown my head off with the high. Might be worth asking around to see if I could get some on the black market, or the mixture copied. How hard could it be?

  A knock sounded on my door. I debated not answering it, but took another swallow of gin, and managed to drag myself up. “Who is it?” I called.

  “It’s Caleb. Open up, Lora.”

  I opened the door, my fingers slow and clumsy. Squinting against the morning sun, I raised a hand in greeting. Caleb’s gold-spun hair was framed by the rising sun and glowed like a halo. He wore his uniform, all crisp around the edges and had his helmet tucked under one arm.

  “If it isn’t the devil himself,” I said. “What do you want?”

  “We need to talk, Lora.”

  I leant against the doorframe, feeling ungracious in my exhaustion. “What about?”

  To my surprise, he pushed past me and stepped inside. I shut the door and limped after him. “Why don’t you make yourself at home, then?”

  I followed him into the kitchen, sensing tension coming off him in waves. He stood by the stove, arms crossed and watching me, as I put down my bottle of gin and took off my leather gloves.

  “This isn’t a great time,” I sat down with a yawn. A small clod of dirt fell from my hair. “I need to clean up.”

  “Have you found anything out yet?”

  “Maybe. Do you know of The Key of Aldebaran?” I focused on his aura as gently as I could.

  “No.” A grainy, green colour flushed around his head as he lied. “I’ve never heard of it. Should I have?”

  I stared hard at Caleb, thinking quickly. Had he really asked me to help him just so he wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty, wallowing in the muck that was Applecross? Why would he lie about the Aldebaran? My exhausted brain stared at a blank wall, unable to guess his motivations. One thing was pretty sure: there was no way Caleb would be capable of performing the kind of magic the grimoire demanded. It just couldn’t be possible.

  “I don’t think you’re telling me everything,” I said. “And I don’t think I’m going to help you anymore, until you let me know what’s going on.”

  The change in Caleb was startling. His face, always so pure was now twisted, and a mean look came into
his eyes. He leant towards me. “You cross me, Lora and I’ll have you in a prison cell tomorrow.”

  I didn’t say anything, trying to keep my poker face in play, but my heart wilted. For some reason, I wanted to cry; something was wrong with Caleb and it broke my heart to see how far he’d fallen from the man I’d once known and admired.

  “Do you understand what you’re saying?” I asked him, pushing my gin away from me. “Do you understand you just threatened me?”

  “What’s going on here?”

  We both started and turned to see Orella standing in the kitchen doorway. Her pipe was lit and billowing smoky plumes. She wore a long black dress, her face covered with a dark veil. Crimson hoops dragged her earlobes low and thick wooden bracelets covered her wrists. One hand held a little prayer book, the symbol of Kianna etched in silver on the front. I stood, moving away from Caleb, barely able to look at him.

  “I’ll take my leave now.” He ignored Orella, his attention only for me. “I mean what I said, Lora. Don’t test me on this.”

  “I believe you,” I replied softly. “Now get out of my house.”

  Caleb departed briskly and the front door slammed behind him. I passed a shaking hand over my eyes before meeting Orella’s questioning look. I couldn’t tell her what Caleb had said.

  “What did he want?” Orella asked.

  “To see if I’d uncovered anything new.”

  “About this Applecross Butcher business?”

  “Yeah.” I checked out her outfit. “Why are you dressed like that?” I asked as a distraction, sitting down.

  “I think the question is, why aren’t you dressed?” Orella sucked hard on her pipe. I didn’t bother to tell her to put it out.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Morgan’s funeral.” Orella’s eyes dropped to the gin bottle on the table. I lowered my forehead to the table. Banged once. Twice. Then a few more times as a fresh feeling of crap washed over me. How could I forget Morgan’s funeral? I propped my head up with my hands, feeling ancient.