“Fowler. Would he be someone who has access to this room?” I asked lightly.
Ambrose opened the door, motioning for me to be silent. He looked out, listening intently, then looked back at me. “You should go now. The location of the book is now an internal matter.”
I hesitated. “What happened to Dugan in the end?”
Ambrose held a hand out, trying to hurry me out of the stuffy little room. “On his death bed, he turned to the faith of The Higher Path. When he died, he left his wealth to the church. They showed their appreciation by dedicating a church after him and making him a saint.”
“I’ve never heard of a Saint Dugan,” I said.
“Dugan was his given name,” Ambrose opened the door and swept a hand, indicating our time in the disturbing room was over. “His family name was Pendergrast.”
Chapter 38
I left the library, armed with Ambrose’s promise he’d give me a head start before raising the alarm. I had no doubt he was lying, but appreciated the pretence.
Ambrose had provided me with proof that Fowler had a connection and access to the Aldebaran. I turned the facts over in my head, trying to find an angle. If I revealed his duplicity to The Order, would they persecute him, or me? After all, I had broken into their compound. Not to mention I had no physical proof. I knew breaking into the library would be enough to see me shackled in irons for a long time, being poked and prodded by the Grigori. That was, if they didn’t see fit to just execute me as an agent of darkcraft. Seemed to me, if Fowler was as guilty as he seemed, then he’d have to meet the Applecross style of justice.
I descended down the spiral staircase, trying to ignore the sick knot forming in my stomach. My plan of getting into the compound had been perfectly executed; now I wished I’d had some thought on my exit. Walking briskly down a covered walkway, I heard a chorus of excited shouts came from a room nearby. Curiosity made me pause and I peered through an open archway and saw a gymnasium. A few dozen Regulators were lounged around two fighters, calling out random bits of advice. The fighters were bare-knuckled and stripped to the waist, dripping with sweat. I recognised Roman instantly, my eyes drawn to his large, rough-hewn body, and his measured movements. He wore a savage smile with just a crinkle of humour around the eyes, as if he were enjoying himself. The smell of blood and pheromones spiced the air and felt my blood stir, watching the muscles in his broad shoulders shift and roll. His opponent looked familiar to me and I realised it was Dyllon, the young nephilim from Roman’s unit.
My eyes shifted to the audience and I noticed the grey-beard Regulator, Kruger, sitting on a bench that ran along the back wall. He was watching the fight and puffing on a pipe with an amused smile. The clink of coin came through the cheers of the crowd, as bets were placed on the fight. I’d have bet on Roman if I’d been in on the action. The younger nephilim had the speed of youth, but Roman looked like he’d taken a few beatings in his life and didn’t care much if he got a few more.
Dyllon danced back on the balls of his feet. His fists were raised too high, his eyes darting to the cheering crowd. He took a leap towards Roman, one fist snapping out. Roman took the blow on his jaw and it hardly moved him. He gave a disgusted grunt and spat on the ground. “You hit like a woman.”
Someone yelled from the crowd, “You fight like an old fish-wife, Dyllon!”
“You hear that, boy?” Roman gave a crooked grin.
Dyllon’s eyes flashed with anger. With a shout, he threw himself at Roman in a flurry of unmastered punches. Roman swerved, then shot in with an uppercut. His fist slammed into Dyllon’s chin, followed by a swift hook to his nose. Blood sprayed over the floor. Pushing the advantage, Roman shoved his shoulder into Dyllon’s gut, hoisted him up and threw him against the nearest wall. Men and nephilim scattered as mounted shields clattered to the ground, Dyllon on top of them. The room erupted with laughter and clapping for a good show. Wiping sweat from his forehead, Roman padded over to crouch beside Dyllon, cuffing him behind the ears and saying something quietly.
Knowing I’d lingered too long, I turned, only to thump into something very solid behind me. My eyes dropped to a pair of boots, then rose to see Roark grinning down at me.
“What do we have here?” he mused.
I thought about running, but knew there’d be no point. There were enough Regulators around to hunt me down in seconds. I went to pull the dagger from my corset, but Roarke’s hands shot out. My broken finger gave a squeal of pain and I winced as he shoved me back, my shoulders hitting the wall behind me.
“You smell of blood,” he sneered.
I flashed my dimples, then jerked my knee up in a violent motion, getting a solid blow between his legs. Roarke’s face flushed purple and spit flew from his mouth in a painful exhale. I turned to run, but his hands were suddenly in my hair, twisting and pulling. Pain shot through my scalp and I tried to pull away, but Roarke’s fingers were tangled fast.
Then, there was a heavy sound. Roarke gave a soft groan and released me. Gasping, I saw Roman standing behind him and staring at me like I was a lunatic. He had a wooden staff in one hand, chest still bare from the fight. His black eyes dropped to Roarke’s limp body. Without a word, he leant the staff against the wall and pulled the other Regulator into a sitting position against a column. Voices sounded from inside the gymnasium, heading towards us. Roman grabbed my hand, pulling me into a doorway nearby doorway, and slamming it shut behind us.
The room was dark and close. I could make out some shelving with jars that stunk of bleach and pine-scented cleaning products. My breathing settled and soon I could hear Roman’s breath, loud and measured. He towered over me, forcing me to retreat a little against a wall. I kept my mouth shut, hearing some footsteps pass us. When they faded, Roman didn’t move back and I felt his eyes steady on me. His skin radiated a warmth that made my fingers itch to touch it, his scent spicy and erotic in this darkness. A warm sensation bloomed between my thighs. Unbidden, my mind flashed up images of Roman’s hands on my skin, caressing me in all the places that mattered. My hands nearly reached for him of their own accord. I tried to get myself under control, tried to distract myself by thinking about something gross and unsexy.
Overcooked broccoli. Farts in a small room. Gideon naked.
I nearly vomited in my mouth, found I was under control again. I let out a shaky breath, wondering what in hellfires had just happened. Getting turned on at a moment like this was rather distracting and unwelcome.
“Want to tell me what you’re doing here?” Roman’s voice was a low rumble. His breath rushed against my face, smelling like a rich, deep wine.
“Would you believe I’m taking a tour?” I quipped.
Roman shifted, moving closer, his body skimming mine. I put a hand up, placing it on his chest, a silent warning not to come any closer. His bare skin was inviting against my fingertips and a frisson of excitement shot through my fingers, sparking heat through me. I heard his breathing hitch. His body stilled.
This man, this creature, was the same breed as me. All I’d ever heard of nephilim was now applicable to me. Would I ever succumb to the madness of the breed? Would I change physically? What would it mean to him, a nephilim, to know I was the same? Would he see me as an abomination? Or something else? Another image flashed through my mind, of Roman’s hands pulling me close and touching my breasts. I banished it quickly.
“This place is dangerous for you.” His fingers ran down my arm, his thumb moving across my pulse with slow movements. “Do you know what would happen to you, if you were found by the Grigori?”
“I can take—”
“—care of yourself.” His fingers tightened. “Are you that reckless?”
“I like to think of it as optimism.” I gave him a small push. Roman backed up a little, breathing loudly as if coming out of a mild trance. “You stink of animal blood.”
“Part of my plan for getting in.”
“What’s your plan for getting out?”
“I had
n’t gotten that far. If you’re not going to help me, then back off. Remember, you owe me.”
I caught the edges of his smile in the dark. “Don’t…” He stopped, took a breath, then said, “I’ll help you, alright? I’ll get you out of here.”
“There’s one more thing I want to do.”
“What?” He reached out, pulling my cowl up.
“I need to talk with the head surgeon,” I said. “Will you take me to him?”
“I get the feeling you’re not going to give me a choice.”
Chapter 39
Roman quickened his pace. I trotted to keep up, following him into the nearest building entrance. Inside, it looked like some sort of common room, with long tables and benches set out in neat rows. Gaslights were being lit, as sunset faded and darkness grew. A scatter of clerks stood in small groups or sat on the long benches that lined the walls, talking in low voices. Some turned to look at us, then huddled closer together, lowering their already hushed tones. I was sure I was well hidden beneath the heavy robe I’d taken from the kid, but my heart began to thunder anyway. Nothing like being in a lion’s den to keep a girl on her toes.
“Roman.”
Another Regulator from Roman’s unit, the nephilim Gore. He approached us from one of the short corridors running off the main hallway. I tried to fade into the background, stepping behind Roman.
“Brother Gore.” Roman shifted a little in front of me. Gore’s eyes ran over me and then focused on Roman.
“I’ve been meaning to speak to you,” he rumbled.
“This isn’t a good time.” Roman’s voice was tense.
Gore’s eyes glanced down the hallway, towards a cluster of clerks. “No need to be prickly.”
Roman’s shoulder’s lowered by an inch. “Forgive me, brother. But if you will excuse me, I am expected elsewhere.” He went to move on and I shifted with him. Gore put a hand out to stop Roman.
“What?” Roman asked impatiently. Gore was looking very uncomfortable and shuffled his feet some, before saying, “Have you heard the talk?”
“What of?”
“Of something…strange coming. A new kind of magic being used. The Witch Hunters are nervous.”
“The Witch Hunters are suffering from cabin fever,” Roman said lightly. “They’ve been inside the compound too long.”
I could see Gore becoming increasingly uncomfortable, his eyes flicking around the room, avoiding settling on anything. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “Some talk about an evil approaching the city. A darkness that consumes everything in its path.”
“How would they know this? They sound like they’ve been sniffing the Apertor Elixir again,” Roman said lightly. Gore’s face turned menacing and he thumbed the axe at his belt.
“Do you think I’m making fun? I too, have a feeling of something coming.” The thick cords and muscles in his neck started to stand out as he worked his jaw, looking suddenly aggravated. “Why do you think I have not told anyone else, Brother?”
Roman gave Gore a solid clap on the shoulder and the ginger-haired nephilim relaxed a little. “You worry too much.”
Gore grunted and stepped back, his face closing down. “You hear about anything unusual, you’d tell me, eh? This business with the moving ley-lines is unsettling.”
“I will, brother.”
“Can’t fight darkcraft with an axe,” Gore muttered. “You just can’t.”
Roman gave a tired smile. “We will both keep a sharp ear out.”
Gore hesitated, then glanced at me and said casually, “I’d get her out of here as quick as you can. I could smell her from down the hallway. Others will notice soon enough.”
I stilled at his words, watching as Gore hurried off. Roman glanced down at me, rubbing his chin. “Whatever you want with the surgeon, it had better be quick.”
“Just a couple of quick questions.”
“He may not be co-operative.”
“Do you know him?”
Roman gave a grim smile. “I had the misfortune of crossing his operating table once. I had an arrow lodged in my ribs from a training accident.” His lip curled into a grimace. “The surgeon did not see it necessary to administer drugs to numb the pain. I was strapped to the operating table, the weapon yanked free. I passed out from the pain and when I woke several hours later, I found myself covered in his leeches.”
I swallowed, remembering the feeling of the crawling, sucking creatures on my skin. “So everyone gets his special treatment.”
“I was mad with pain,” Roman continued. “I ripped free of my restraints and attacked him.”
“Hope you got in a few good ones,” I said.
Roman shot me a grim look. “My punishment for loss of control was twenty lashes. I’ve been fortunate not to be a victim of that butcher again.” He hesitated, then said, “I put myself at risk, taking you to him. What will you give me in return?”
I pushed him off me. “Hold up there, big guy. Have we forgotten you already owe me a favour?”
Roman’s face broke into a smile that transformed his face, the lines on his forehead disappearing, the brooding look melting away. “We can talk about it later.”
I followed him through a labyrinth of small rooms and outside again to a cloister. The courtyard was paved with tiles the colour of bleached bone and a tree grew in the centre, surrounded by a circular stone bench. With the coming of spring the tree’s stark branches were ornamented with tight buds of pink. We passed a wall lined with hundreds of brass plates with names engraved on them, the newest ones shining bright with fresh polish.
“What is this?” I pointed to the plates.
“The Court of Remembrance,” Roman replied. “It honours the fallen in the war against heretics.”
“Your friend, the one from Saint Pendergrast, will his name go up here?”
“No.” Roman’s voice was sharp.
We heard leaves crunch under approaching feet and both froze. Without waiting for Roman to say anything, I ducked into an open archway that led to an empty corridor. Roman walked away from me, and I heard a voice greet him.
“Commiserating with the dead, Regulator Roman?”
Peering out, I saw a Grigori priest approach Roman. My palms sprung sweat as I realised it was Fowler. His eyes were fixed on Roman the way a hunter marks its prey and I felt my heart drum faster. This man was the potential mastermind behind the existence of the Butcher of Applecross, and therefore, the man responsible for the death of Roman’s friend. I was thankful I’d had enough sense not to confess anything to him.
“Father.” Roman bowed his head.
“It is good to see you again, Regulator Roman.” I watched Fowler’s thin lips stretch into a sharp smile.
“Are you taking the air, Father?” Roman asked.
“You could say that.” Fowler’s gaze swept from the sky to pin Roman. “Tell me, how goes young Dyllon’s training? There is talk he is a most difficult lad.”
“He improves,” Roman paused, then added, “If I have to break all of his limbs to make it so.”
“Good,” the priest nodded. “It would be a shame if he does not conform.”
“He is young. He will learn.”
Fowler paused, as if trying to balance his words carefully. He gave Roman what could have been a sympathetic look, but it was somehow lost in the sharp planes of his face. “Tell me, what is the morale like in your unit? It has been a few days since…your man was discovered and I wish to know how the others in your unit feel.”
“We are ready to return to duty, Father.”
“No need for mourning time, then?”
“We are soldiers,” Roman replied blandly. “Death is on our shoulder at all times.”
“I’ve heard disturbing reports of you being absent from your duties with the young ones,” Fowler said. “Your men tell me you take your man’s death most personally. That you ask questions, even though you know the matter has been closed.”
Roman was silent. Fowler craned
his head up, looking to the sky, his eyes following a couple of birds swooping overhead. “It would be wise of you to let the subject go. His death was a tragedy, but we must all move on.”
“I understand,” Roman answered stiffly.
“I’m glad.” Fowler folded his arms. His face slowly turned and peered into the shadows where I hid. “And now perhaps you’d like to explain to me why the female Witch Hunter is here? I had to go to considerable lengths to not have the alarms raised. Though she quite charmed the Head Librarian, she also knocked out a young boy and took his clothes.”
My mouth went dry. I forced myself to step into view, sweeping the cowl off my face. “Father.” I sashayed my way towards as if I’d been intending to all along. Surprise showed in Fowlers face, like he’d only been guessing I was lurking in the shadows and was amazed he’d been right. “This is a surprise, Lady Blackgoat. What brings you to our humble dwellings?”
“Visiting a sick friend,” I deadpanned. Roman was rock still, his nostrils flaring wide and looking like he’d rather be somewhere else. His eyes were fixed on Fowler’s face, like waiting for some sort of sign. Not for the first time, I had to wonder what kind of hold the Grigori had over the nephilim. Mental conditioning only went so far, then there had to be something else. Maybe they were believers, like the priests. Maybe they just didn’t care enough to want to spread their proverbial wings.
Fowler gave me his skeleton grin, showing his long teeth. “You’re lying.”
“I’m not the only one.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.
“Oh?” The Grigori priest’s eyes glittered, like he was intrigued by the idea.
“Yeah.” I crossed my arms. “I don’t believe for a second that a small-time crook like Roper had the balls to pick pocket a Grigori priest. I think you set him up, orchestrated the meeting. Wanted to see me jump through a few hoops like a good little show pony.”
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