The Catalyst

by Helena Coggan

  Loren was white and motionless where he sat, staring at the rising smoke from the high road. Rose, familiar with the symptoms of shock, considered hitting him to snap him out of it, evaluated the likelihood of him hitting her back, and shouted at him instead.

  “Loren!” She could barely hear him over the rising screams. “Loren, what is it?”

  He said something in a soft, terrified voice that she couldn’t make out. She threw caution to the wind and hit him, and then he was on his feet. She ran after him, shouting things along the lines of how imperative it was for him to get back, and what an idiot he was to run out undisguised, until she thought of her father, and the fraught, anguished look he wore when she was in danger.

  After that she just ran with him.

  They stopped dead on Shepherd’s Bush Road and stared. They were not the only ones. Westfield shopping center was gone: it sat, a shattered wreck, beside the Tube station, a great hulk of smoke and fire and broken glass that littered the streets.

  The sky was no longer blue.

  Loren yelled furiously, desperately, “TABITHA!”

  Rose saw her first. Tabitha was huddled, ash-covered, under the awning of a grocer’s. Rose shook Loren’s arm, pointed, and Tabitha looked up and saw them and her black eyes brightened through the blood on her face.

  Loren started to run.

  The Department car came, screaming with sirens, round the corner, and there was a screeching of wheels and a skidding and Loren was down. Tabitha and Rose both cried out. Loren was lying in the road clutching his ribs. The Department squad team got out of the car, and dragged him roughly to his feet. Rose saw the glint of handcuffs.

  She backed away, horrified, and ran.

  She managed three steps before there was a strong hand across her mouth and arms round her waist and they dragged her backward. She bit down hard into her captor’s palm, tasted blood, and someone cried out. Then there was metal across her wrists, and fabric instead of flesh against her mouth. Someone slammed her against the car.

  She glanced, terrified, to either side and saw Loren and Tabitha similarly bound and gagged beside her. Loren was unconscious, but whether that was from the pain from his ribs or because they had preemptively sedated him Rose didn’t know. Tabitha was still struggling, wide-eyed and screaming through her gag.

  A Department officer stood in front of the three of them and started to read out their arrest warrants. Rose thought with anger that any law-enforcement officer worth their salt should have been rescuing the wounded from the destroyed shopping center.

  “Loren Sebastian Arkwood, Rosalyn Daniela Elmsworth and Tabitha Rayna Arkwood, you are hereby arrested . . .”

  Rose looked at Loren in frustration. He lay against the car, stubbornly unconscious. Damn him.

  Damn all of this.

  Damn it all to hell.

  She crumpled against the car and watched the black smoke drift slowly across the sun.

  In spite of the officer’s warnings, Rose did not remain silent. She managed to work off her gag when they shoved her into the police van, and during the ride her captors were treated to every obscenity the Department’s fifth-floor office had to offer, which was quite a substantial vocabulary. When they got to Westminster, they shoved her into a cell away from the other two. Rose swore at the cameras for a while, and then, when her voice became hoarse, she sat against the wall and thought furiously.

  So, this is it, huh?

  All that worry. All that lack of sleep, the planning, the fear.

  For nothing. For nothing.

  Loren and Tabitha had been captured after all.

  The sense of utter failure and disappointment was not one she was used to, and she let it swamp her, pressing her eyes to her kneecaps for a moment and staring bleakly into the dark, before gaining control again.

  This was the Department. She had home advantage here: she and David had long ago taken note of the security system used to keep prisoners in custody, just in case it was ever turned against them, and she thought that if she tried, if she really tried, she might be able to escape.

  Escape, and run . . . where?

  This was her home: she had nowhere to go but back to her captors.

  That was depressing.

  In practical terms, any escape plan would probably also involve magic. But the food they would give her would be deliberately low-calorie, just enough to keep her alive, but not enough to leave her with any excess energy to use in magic.

  Enough to fume, though.

  Four days. You lasted four days out in the open.

  What on earth is the actual bloody point of you?

  Apart from her own imprisonment, there was the matter of Loren and Tabitha to consider. After all she’d done to keep them safe, Rose didn’t want to leave them in Department cells, especially not with Loren injured.

  And then there was David. Rose had no doubt he would have planned for their capture; he would have some kind of control over their situation, would come for Rose.

  She was not sure whether that was good or bad.

  Hope came in her morning porridge on the third day of her arrest.

  Thankfully, she saw it before she tasted it: something glinting at the bottom of the plastic tray, beneath the gray sludge. She reached in and pulled it out, dousing it with her water to clean it, making sure to keep it hidden behind her hand, just in case.

  Smooth. Round. Silver.

  Oh Angels, it was Loren’s locket.

  He had taken it off the chain, but it was there: the photograph of Rayna and Tabitha inside it was undamaged, the figures still smiling. Rose didn’t know how he’d gotten it into her food. He must have needed help, but whether it was willing or coerced, and who — a guard? James? Even, dare she hope, David? — she didn’t know.

  Still, to give it to her, he must be awake, and coherent, and planning, and — crucially — not dead.

  She sat in the blind spot in her cell and smiled.

  The wait this time was longer. The suspense of not knowing what was happening nearly broke her resolve. But she knew David would want her to stay where she was, safe, at least for the moment, so she resisted the temptation to try to escape.

  Six days after she was arrested, there were crushed pieces of paper underneath her plastic plate. Rose sat in the blind spot to read them with trembling hands.

  The first was a fragment of what looked like a speech. It had been ripped out of the original document; the edges were yellowed slightly, torn, but the paper itself was white, recently printed on.

  — dies and gentlemen of the jury, I speak not from the heart but from the head when I say that Private Elmsworth and Tabitha Arkwood have committed no crime. They are victims of circumstance, no more; and it is circumstance, not principle, that should guide the hand that decides their fate. We live now in a time where pragmatism must be foremost in the minds of men and Angels. There will be time for justi —

  David, in a courtroom. They were trying Tabitha. That was odd: she wasn’t even at the legal age of responsibility. The circumstances, as David had said, must be very dire.

  Just how dire became apparent in the second scrap of paper. It had been ripped from a printed-out BBC News article, from the Breaking News section. That in itself was odd: it had been months since an article had been published there without redaction. The corner of the paper had a fragment of a photo — black smoke against glass and sky.

  — ield shopping center was destroyed last week in a blast that claimed seventy-four lives. Regency, an Ashkind militia, claimed responsibility for the attack on Wednesday. There is no news yet on the exact identity or location of the bombers, but the Department last night issued a communiqué stating their intention to bring them to justice as quic —

  The last scrap of paper contained five words, scribbled in thin black ink and in her father’s handwriting.

  You know I love you.

  Rose pressed the paper to her face, breathing it.

  Such certainty.

/>   You know I love you.

  On the eighth day of her imprisonment, David came. He was not alone — Rose could hear other voices, other footsteps, loud and angry through her cell door — but he sounded like himself again: not Dad, not quite, but David, in the middle of a case and arguing in that way he did when only courtesy stopped him from telling his opponent in no uncertain terms how thick they were being.

  Love and anguish and fear and guilt twisted inside her like warring snakes, and she crushed them and tried to stay emotionless. Of course it didn’t work.

  Rose was on her feet when the cell door opened, and he was the first person she saw. He was tired-looking and drawn, but he was smiling, smiling at her. Behind him was such a congregation as Rose had never seen before down in the Department’s underground wing. She saw Terrian there, disapproving as always; Nate, refusing to meet her gaze; Laura, sympathetic but stern; James, red hair as bright as ever, outshone only by his smile; and Loren and Tabitha, looking pale and shaken, but alive.

  Rose did not have time to wonder what was going on before her father spoke.

  “Private Rosalyn Daniela Elmsworth, your appeal has been successful. You have been cleared by the High Court of murder and attempted murder. You do still have”— David glanced at the others —“a very suspended sentence for resisting arrest but, what the hell, who needs the law when you’ve got bureaucracy on your side?”

  The others remained silent. Rose wasn’t quite sure whether she was still going with the formal military procedure, but decided she probably should, just to be safe.

  She glanced at the Arkwoods.

  “And as for the legal status of my fellow defendants?” she asked stiffly.

  “Drop it, Rose,” Loren said. His voice seemed hoarse, but he looked otherwise undamaged. “We’re free. All three of us.”

  “What?” Her mind had gone blank. “Where’s the catch?”

  “None,” said David brightly. “Well, he’s still technically in protective custody —”

  “I’m what?”

  “. . . but otherwise, yes, you’re fine.”

  Loren stepped forward; the motion made him wince, and he put a hand to his newly mended ribs. “What did you say about me?”

  “You’re still in protective custody. James told you, surely?”

  An awkward silence, during which everyone’s heads turned to look at James, who looked very sheepish. “The Demon girl looked so happy —”

  “My name is Tabitha,” she said, quietly, from beside Loren.

  A longer silence. Terrian pushed forward so that he stood directly in front of Loren. This was, in retrospect, a bad strategic decision; Loren was noticeably taller than Terrian, and though he was pale and gaunt and considerably weaker magically, he did not back down. He raised his eyebrows. Only Rose noticed him gently pull Tabitha behind him.

  “You have something to say?” he asked.

  “Yes,” growled Terrian. “Listen to me, you son of a bitch. You’re not forgiven. You’re not. We spent months — months — trying to track you down, and if someone”— a glance at Rose filled with such concentrated resentment that she flinched and David stiffened —“hadn’t gotten in our way, you and your kid would be locked up way down there behind three feet of steel with no chance — none at all — of seeing the light of day for the rest of your pathetic lives. And that will happen, make no mistake, if you so much as think of stepping over the line, or running away. You will end up right back here, and you won’t get so much as a dream of freedom ever again. You are only being let out because we need what you know. Do you understand?”

  Loren looked at him. The contempt in his eyes was unmistakable.

  “You’ve made yourself clear,” he said softly.

  Terrian nodded. He seemed somewhat at a loss; perhaps he had expected — hoped?— that it would come to blows. After a pause, during which he seemed to become aware of the astonished eyes of everyone else on him, he turned suddenly to Rose.

  “And you,” he said, furiously, but his vocabulary seemed to have run out here, and he merely repeated “you,” menacingly; and then he turned sharply toward the stairs and stomped up toward the light. Loren glared after him; his breath seemed to be returning to him now. If Tabitha was unsettled, she did not show it.

  A silence. Terrian’s shadow seemed to hang in the air.

  “Anyway,” said David to Loren, “you’re still arrested, technically. Tomorrow a hearing will be held concerning your bail, which will be granted, while you await trial. The trial will be postponed until such time as we gather enough evidence to clear your name.”

  “He’s a murderer,” said Nate abruptly, glaring at Loren. “That evidence doesn’t exist.”

  “Not yet.”

  It was James who said it, as if in an attempt to redeem himself; they glanced at him again.

  “Diplomatically put,” said David dryly.

  “So . . . I’m back in the Department?” asked Rose incredulously. It was as if a ten-ton weight had been lifted from her shoulders; she was free, she was free, Loren was not dead, and David —

  “Yes,” David said. “We applied for your conscription to be shifted here. In light of . . . recent events, they have agreed to the transfer.” At her blank look, he explained, “You work for the Department now. You’re officially on the payroll.”

  This would have been good news at the best of times, but coming after days of being on the run, being shot, arrested, and waiting eight days to find out whether she’d be locked up for the rest of her life, David’s words were the best to ever reach Rose’s ears. Paradise came to her after days in hell, and she felt light-headed with happiness.

  She ran over to him and hugged him in front of almost the entire Department. He hugged her back.

  “Welcome back,” he whispered to her.

  She pulled away a little and said hesitantly, “I’m . . . forgiven, then?”

  “Absolutely not. You are grounded for a very long time, Private Elmsworth.”

  There was something off in his voice; trust in their world, she knew, was hard-won, and easily lost. She did her best to block off the hurt. It was completely understandable: any parent would react like this at such a large-scale betrayal on the part of their child. She would simply keep her head down from now on, then. If that was the price she had to pay, then she would do so gladly.

  A small, selfish voice in her head complained about his own myriad betrayals, but she shut it down angrily. What had that to do with anything? These secrets were his. Helping Loren Arkwood behind his back? Now that had been hurtful. David owed her nothing; she owed him her life many times over.

  He released her. She saw him glance at Tabitha, who met his gaze with something like happiness, and the eyes of everyone in the group flickered between the two of them.

  A very awkward silence for a long five seconds.

  Rose turned to Nate and James. “I’m sorry. About everything. I really am.”

  “Just . . . don’t do that to me again,” said James. His smile looked painful.

  “I won’t, I promise.”

  Nate ignored her. He wasn’t even looking at Rose; he was staring fixedly at the wall. Rose took it she was not forgiven — which was obviously to be expected, but nevertheless it felt like being stabbed. After it became clear that he was the reason for her silence, he turned, and started up the stairs toward the ground floor. David lagged behind with Rose and the Arkwoods. Despite everything, a smile was beginning to grow on Rose’s face.

  “So,” Loren said after a moment, “who was that?”

  “Colonel Connor Terrian,” David told him darkly. “My . . . senior. Word of warning, he doesn’t like you much.”

  “Why ever not?”

  “Argent. Connor is in charge of clearing up after suspicious incidents. He nearly lost his job over that.”

  “Ah.” Loren unconsciously pulled the sleeves of his shirt further toward his wrists. “Can’t blame him for that, then.”

  Rose noticed Ta
bitha watching Loren.

  “Who is Argent?” she asked.

  David, Loren and Rose looked at one another.

  “He killed your mother,” Loren said shortly.

  “So you killed him?”

  “Yes.”

  Tabitha paused and considered this. They watched her.

  “That’s very bad, Daddy.”

  Rose raised her eyebrows at Loren.

  “I know,” he said. “I . . . won’t do it again.”

  David nearly snorted. The Department tended to leave its employees with a very well-developed sense of gallows humor.

  “So we’re free?” Loren asked.

  “Well, technically not until tomorrow’s hearing, but yes,” David said. “Sorry about the long wait, we had to conduct a very arduous face-saving operation — which I did my very best to avoid,” he added at Rose’s glare. “Terrian, mostly. We had to convict you first, so we didn’t look like idiots for chasing Arkwood around for months. Then we had to get the conviction overturned, so we could set you free and blame it on the courts for their bad judgement.”

  “And exactly how many times did you have to pull rank to get the Department to agree to setting Loren Arkwood free?” Rose asked.

  “Not once,” said David cheerfully. “As long as you comply with your conditions of release, you’re a free man, everyone agrees.”

  Silence.

  “Conditions of release?” asked Loren, icily.

  David looked at them, and took a breath.

  “Ah,” he said.

  When their argument had grown into shouting, Connor Terrian met her again at the top of the stairs. Nate stood behind him, arms folded.

  “Don’t,” said Terrian, “even think about holding on to a shadow of a hope that this is over.”

  Rose said nothing. He considered her for a moment, disgust clear in his expression.

  “How could you,” he said quietly, not a question, and walked slowly away. Rose stared after him. After a moment, Nate came forward and hugged her. Rose leaned into him, breathing him in. She tried to remember him as a laughing child. She tried to remember him love-struck beside Maria. But he leaned back and looked at her, and all she could see was a grave young man with deep hurt in his eyes.