Return of the Starchild (The Divine Inheritance Series Book 1)

by Catriona Murphy

  The warehouse consisted of stacked crates, tinkling chains that swayed down from the damp ceiling, and a floor that was covered in sawdust and mud.

  There was also of course, the dead body.

  It had naturally attracted the rangers on duty from the Watch, who stood guard at all entrances, their navy caps stitched with the golden eagle, wings outspread.

  The air was damp and stale, as if not enough wind could get into the holding area to stir its stagnancy. The chains clinkered lightly above, and Seamus felt another headache coming on. He’d set out on the crispy cool morning, meeting the frosty air with a grimace that only an old man all too aware of his mortality would give.

  Detective Wolfe was kneeling down by the body, inspecting its unusual wounds, the very thing that had dragged Seamus down into the early gloom of the holding area.

  On the body were markings, and not just any kind but runes, ancient ones that whispered of a time long past. A team of scholars had already been appointed to track their source and meaning, because this wasn’t the first murder by runes.

  The Watch had been struggling to catch what the locals had dubbed ‘the Skinner’ for nearly an entire year. Each death grislier than the last, but always with the same carvings in the flesh, left ripe red like fresh whip marks with a huge cavity in the chest. The hole was always punched through to the other side; punctured like paper. Always the same signature kills, as if the runes weren’t a big enough clue that it was their work.

  Wolfe had been following up on leads all year, but was no closer to identifying the killer. Vicious rumours had started amongst the common people that it was a Privilege at the top tier, unleashing their twisted desires on the lowly commoners, knowing they were expendable. Seamus decided to personally visit the next crime scene to placate the public’s increasing concerns. He didn’t have to wait too long.

  He covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief, and not even his heavy fur lined coat and leather boots could keep out the chill that swept through him every time he looked upon the corpse. He had seen too much death lately.

  Spread out like a five-pointed star, the man lay face down, naked. The runes were ugly, and seemed to spit venom at Seamus. But it wasn’t the worst part of the crime scene.

  Suspended from the chain above, upside down, with a hook through it’s lower abdomen, was a bat-like creature the size of a child. Its furry face was screwed up in a constant snarl, baring a small row of sharp teeth. Its leathery wings flopped down lifelessly and it’s open black eyes reflected Seamus’s face of revulsion. He pressed his handkerchief in further, but no matter where he looked, evidence was smeared all over the dreadful warehouse. Blood splattered the walls unashamedly and messily, and there was a copious amount of it.

  Flies buzzed around pools of it that congealed near the centre, and several instruments had been recovered by the Department of Analysts to study.

  Jamel walked up behind and stood next to him, following his king’s disgusted gaze at the walls.

  ‘The Order of the Second Dawn perhaps?’ His voice echoed around the vast interior of the warehouse.

  ‘Or the killer wants us to blame them on it,’ Seamus replied. ‘No, we would have found an image, an idol of their beloved Phoenix which we haven’t. This feels a little too macabre, even for them,’

  ‘His majesty is right,’ called out detective Wolfe. They turned to her as she rose from the corpse, pulling off scarlet stained gloves. ‘This was hardly their work, even taking their dubious history into consideration, they’re a band of fanatics, but they’re not this dark. Besides, the Prophet hasn’t been seen in years. This was something else.’

  ‘Something what?’ asked Jamel, his brown eyes tense and serious. Even in midwinter his skin seemed to stay chestnut brown.

  Wolfe glanced down at the body. ‘Not sure yet. If I was to guess a motive? Some zealot obsessed with dark magick and hates the crown. It wouldn’t be the first time someone has made a statement of where they think things should be.’

  She looked up at the bundle of leather and black matted fur. ‘That, I have no idea. I called in a Wildlife Specialist, not exactly Zoe herself, but someone who knows their stuff. He couldn’t find it even in his oldest reference book. Was quite the head scratcher for him, which was of course, before he vomited spectacularly in the corner. We haven’t been able to identify its species just yet.’

  Jamel leaned into Seamus. ‘Could it be of the faerie forest? I’ve heard there are all manner of creatures residing there. Some have been wandering there for so long; they don’t even know what sunlight looks like.’

  ‘If that were true then how did it wind up dead in Erp Surrel, like this? Caught up in some twisted ritual?’

  Wolfe gestured for the deceased attendants to enter.

  ‘Wait,’ Seamus said, ‘let me look at him first.’

  ‘As you wish, your highness.’ She motioned for the attendants to stop and smiled at Seamus without showing any teeth, it was like watching an angry gorilla trying to grin.

  He stopped a few feet away and studied the markings.

  The man was of fair skin, and maybe in his late thirties with blood soaked curly hair stuck to his head. He noticed fingernails were missing and a black stream of liquid bled out of his ears onto the floor.

  It was the runes that bothered him the most. Seamus was a deadblood, which meant he couldn’t perform magick, but a part of him sensed the malice lurking underneath their jagged, savage angles.

  He was about to lean down when the body twitched.

  Jamel was in front of Seamus before he could take in his next breath. He roared the password for code orange, and men of the Kingsguard bundled into the warehouse past the Rangers who looked on in befuddlement.

  Detective Wolfe held out her hand for Seamus to stay back. ‘Your highness...’

  The body convulsed this time, in a fit of seizures and then, astonishingly, raised one arm up and slapped its palm down into the blood-soaked ground. It did the same with its other hand and the man eased himself up halfway, but awkwardly.

  The Kingsguard had bound so tightly around Seamus that he could barely see past the shoulder blades of armour and sharp edges of helms.

  Wolfe had pulled out her athame, it flashed in the dim interior of the warehouse, glowing a dull white. The attendants gawked in horror as a dead man came to life before the whites of their eyes.

  He pulled himself to his feet and stood relaxed, arms loose by his sides. His scarred back faced the awestruck faces that looked on. He cracked his neck with aching slowness on both sides and turned.

  Seamus saw opaque eyes as dead as a calm ocean. They looked pitiless and bottomless. He raised a milky pale arm strangled with stark blue veins; a layer of flesh was missing underneath. A crow flew down to try and pick at the exposed, puss festered area.

  The man caught it in one blurred motion and bent the head so the neck snapped; the sound was like an iceberg cracking. He held it up and studied the bundle of black, diseased feathers before tossing it aside. The massive hole in his chest seemed more noticeable now that he was standing, it dripped of blood and puss and ran down his disfigured stomach. Through it, Seamus could see finger painted runes in blood on the wall behind him.

  ‘Ruler of the Otherworld,’ he choked, he sounded like he was belching the words out in gasps. Had his voice box deteriorated? ‘The dead will rise and take you.’

  ‘Who wields behind you? Do you have a master?’ asked Wolfe, who kept her athame at mid-level to the man, the instrument was blindingly bright now, radiating in alarm.

  ‘My master will rise.’

  Above, the winged creature began to wriggle in its chains.

  The man looked directly at Seamus, gaze piercing through the forest of spears that stood between them. ‘You will perish before him; his seeds have burst and will choke your kingdom.’

  The bat squealed viciously, squirming to get free.

  The man’s eyes rolled
back and he collapsed.

  ‘Jamel?’ Seamus asked, with deadly calm.

  ‘Your highness?’

  ‘Kill that thing.’

  Jamel and two men of the guard took aim with their arrows and fired. It took three rounds for the screeching to stop.

  Wolfe approached the body cautiously, Rangers following behind her.

  ‘Has the artist sketched the runes?’ she asked one of them.

  ‘Yes, she left half an hour ago to deliver them to head office with an escort.’

  ‘Burn the body,’ she ordered, ‘I’ve taken everything I need off him. Burn it, now and quickly. He should never have gotten so close to the King.’

  Seamus couldn't tear his eyes away from the corpse. Was he dead? Perhaps he just lay in a dormant state, ready to rise at a moment’s notice.

  ‘Your highness?’ Jamel prompted him from his thoughts. ‘I’d like to remove you from the premises now, that was too close.’

  He nodded, feeling numb and dare he say it, weak at the knees. He couldn’t wipe the searing image of the dead eyes from his mind. They haunted his sight all the way back to the palace.

  After several meetings and drafting another precarious response to the Unofficial Queen’s (or ‘mad’, as some called her) cryptic letters, Seamus sat in his quiet study.

  Beyond the north facing windows, snowflakes swirled in the night wind.

  Taxidermy occupied various spots around the room, trophies Seamus liked to collect from his hunting expeditions.

  A flicker of movement startled him, and he caught only a glimpse of a shadow slithering into a dark corner. They came and went, the shadows, he thought perhaps it was the first sign of age, a dark hallucination that signalled the oncoming feeble mind. Or maybe they were real. Maybe they sensed his deep thinking, his emotions, his vulnerability, where his thoughts were when he was alone. As though they wanted him to know they’re aware of what haunts him.

  A soft knock on the door took his worried gaze from the corner. ‘Yes?’

  A herald entered. His embroidered clothing shone of yellow, purple and lime greens which were puffy at the arms and legs. Seamus always thought the traditional outfit looked absurd, a puff pastry that had been cooking too long and was on the verge of exploding.

  ‘Detective Wolfe, your highness, she says that you summoned her.’

  Seamus waved a hand. ‘See her in.’

  He bowed and left.

  Seamus buttoned his tweed waistcoat and straightened himself in his armchair. He quickly tried to instigate order to the chaos of his desk and failed.

  Wolfe stalked in like a predator, walking slowly and observing all around her. She looked queerly at the stuffed animals.

  ‘Somewhat of a hunter your highness?’ ‘Back in the day,’ he replied, studying her from behind his desk.

  She walked across the polished floor, sending echoes throughout the hall. At Seamus’s opposite end, a fire burned in a massive fireplace with comfortable armchairs.

  ‘There’s been rumours of a Xinger on the loose,’ she said. She turned her oddly coloured eyes on him.

  ‘The faerie general, Galfen was attacked by one.’

  She exhaled a breath. ‘The rumour is true.’

  Wolfe was genuinely surprised, a look she didn’t show very often. ‘What happened?’

  Seamus let out a long breath and stared at his desk. ‘He showed up unannounced and relayed the story to me and the cabinet. It attacked him and his men and he was forced to collapse his own gate in a bid to prevent the Xinger from crossing back,’ he hesitated momentarily, ‘the Minister of Defence is handling it and I expect this information,’ he looked up and fixed her with a steely, kingly glare, ‘not to leave this room.’

  Her head tilted, face inquisitive. ‘You think Hannelsford and the Xinger are linked?’

  Seamus was surprised at how quickly she jumped to that.

  ‘No. I don’t know.’ He cast at the window, as lost as the falling snow. The wind picked up and the fire wavered like a bad omen.

  He rose from his chair and went to his decanter and wordlessly offered a drink to Wolfe. She politely declined.

  He poured himself a glass of Scotch in a tumbler glass. ‘Do you have any idea what happened this morning?’

  Her face changed. ‘A ritual, of sorts. Perhaps one to lure you in, lure me in or someone in. Of course, one thing is for certain, whoever wanted to deliver a message to you, managed to eventually do it. Question is, what’s the next move now?’ She pushed forward a pawn on an antique chessboard where the pieces were made of precious glass.

  ‘I got the message,’ he took a swig of his glass. ‘What I want to know is, who was the deliverer?’

  ‘Not the Order I should think, nor the tribes. I think you are trying to make sense of something that is beyond easy explanation.’

  He turned to her and saw her leaning over one of the chairs, looking intently at him. ‘I think what happened is something that myself and the Department of Analysts should be finding an answer for in the old tomes in the Great Library. There are books there that may help.’

  ‘Why? Because you think the past can help? You think this is connected to something ancient?’

  ‘Why did you summon me here? To get closure on the undead?’

  ‘You are seeking an answer too,’ Seamus replied, ignoring her question. ‘All I know is that our prison has been decimated, and that somehow it involved the Shadow Dancer, a man who was presumed dead fifty years ago and has somehow been brought back to life. The tribal quarters are in the most violent state than they have been in since I started my reign. A Xinger is possibly roaming loose and an undead man told me that my time as ruler is ending.’

  Wolfe’s eyes were focused on him in a new way, as if seeing him in a different light. ‘You think you’re losing control.’ It wasn’t a question.

  ‘I need to make sure that it doesn’t happen.’

  The firelight spat sparks and Wolfe fell silent.

  ‘What have you found on the prison decimation?’

  She stirred, as though shaking off a reverie. ‘Well, I had an interesting interview with the Eye Wielders,’ she rolled her eyes, ‘some babbled about a demon and as you said, the Shadow Dancer interestingly came up. I have my entire team working relentlessly on the case. We questioned the Phoenix worshipper, he wouldn’t give us anything, but we identified him as Kelean Dox, he’s linked to the prison officer who we believe assisted in the attack. They were colleagues working on a farm near Castle Razielle, they both entered the Order at around the same time, about three or four years ago.’

  ‘Did you try unconventional methods to extract any information?’

  Wolfe looked uncomfortable. ‘We did, and he started to recite a mantra, a common prayer of the Order. And when he was done with that, he gave us a recipe for soda bread.’

  ‘So, nothing then.’

  ‘Nothing, he’s been a worthless lead so far and a waste of time. We are still seeking other members out, but we fear that most of them have fled the city.’

  ‘Have you checked in with the Department of Analysts? See what their progress is on the evidence that was taken from the wreckage?’

  Wolfe’s look was chagrined. ‘I did, amazing how they get any work done there with their tinkering and head scratching. They’ve still to identify the object in the crystal, the radiation is strong.’

  ‘And what of the man who dug it up?’

  ‘He died, your highness, the exposure left him weak. He deteriorated before I could reach him for questioning.’

  Seamus sighed, there had been so many stumbling blocks to solving the prison attack. He suspected someone was working really hard to cover up all their dirty tracks.

  ‘And your research on the Order?’ He prodded, though with little heart. ‘What have you come up with?’

  ‘Not much on that front either, I’m afraid. The Order has popped in and out of history books, and the one
congregant we have is too deranged to probe. My investigation would go more smoothly if I could get my hands on one of the more saner members.’

  She smacked the chair in frustration.

  ‘You would have to assume there was such a person in their order,’ Seamus drawled. ‘Continue to dig up what you can, we need to find out what happened at that prison and why this Mr. Timmings blew it up. For all we know there could be more impending attacks to come.’

  ‘And potentially closer to home.’

  Seamus backed his remaining Scotch, not bothering to taste the potent liquid. He felt it wash down like a trickle of fire, but it was as bitter as his encounter with the undead man.

  All day he had been distracted, even Jamel and his lady-in-waiting noticed, though they had remained respectfully silent. He felt obsidian eyes watching him in every mirror he passed, and even the visiting shadows had seemed bigger, creepier than usual. He held up his empty glass. ‘Let us hope that we don’t perish in our efforts.’

  Wolfe’s coloured eyes were flat in the firelight. ‘Anything can happen to us now, I can feel it in my gut like a bad dinner.’

  ‘How many cases have you solved constable? Would you say you’ve solved more than you haven’t solved?’

  ‘I would say I’ve solved enough to keep the statistics in the annual reports looking optimistic, and my superiors off my back. But dealing with a criminal who is delusional and mad is a unique challenge, though not unheard of.’ She folded her arms. ‘Most of the time I’m dealing with people caught stealing food with a bad accent and attitude to match.’

  Seamus was contemplative. ‘You may leave now, Wolfe. I will be in contact soon.’

  She bowed. ‘Your highness. If I were you, I would check in with the Department of Analysts yourself, your presence would scorch their arses and make them work faster. Bloody lab rats the lot of them.’

  Seamus laughed, not a bitter one which left a bad aftertaste, but a genuine one. They came so rarely these days.

  ‘That I will do.’

  Wolfe made her courtesies and left.