Chaos Born

by Rebekah Turner

  “Now that was fun,” he brayed.

  Chapter 12

  Looking to kill some time, I found myself back at Growlers, playing a game of ratscrew with a fur merchant called Dawson. I’d won two hands, Dawson had won four. The pot on the table was a good amount now and I’d noticed Dawson trying to slip extra cards from his sleeve. Every time his fingers started twitching, I yawned, crossed my legs and kicked him under the table, leading to glares of outrage and a warning look from me.

  The city clock rang out eleven o’clock. I had finished my second beer and lit a cigarillo, when Joseph Hacksaw Daleman entered. He was wearing a sharp-looking brown coat with a white carnation in the lapel. Behind him hulked a mountain of a man with no neck of consequence and a squashed cloth-cap.

  Everyone in the room kept going about their business, pretending not to notice Daleman and his heavy. This wasn’t unusual; half the crowd probably owed him money. I groaned quietly as his eyes settled on me and he walked over. No-neck went with him, dull eyes watching the crowd like he was waiting for someone to challenge him.

  Daleman stopped at our table and tipped his hat at me. “Good day, Lady Blackgoat. Might I have the pleasure of your company for a few minutes?”

  I took the cigarillo out of my mouth and tapped some ash on the ground. “I’ll be right with you.” I turned over my last card, seeing too late it was a Queen of Hearts. Dawson’s hand slapped over it before I could. He grinned at me, knowing he’d won, and reached for the money on the table. One of my hands shot out, stopping him.

  “Not so fast.” I yanked his sleeve down, revealing three more Queen of Heart cards tucked inside.

  “I didn’t cheat that time,” Dawson howled.

  “Hard to believe from where I’m sitting.” I let his hand go and sat back, throwing a pair of dimples his way. “But I’ll let you go this once.”

  “I won, fair and square.” Dawson’s eyes were secured on the money. Daleman watched the exchange with an amused expression.

  “It did look as though you were cheating,” he murmured to the merchant.

  “I didn’t cheat that time,” Dawson insisted. “She knows it.”

  “I can’t be sure of that.” I stuck the cigarillo back in my mouth. “And cheaters always forfeit.”

  Dawson looked outraged. “You set me up.”

  I hitched my shoulders. “Forfeit and walk away, my friend.”

  “Would you like assistance with this?” Daleman asked me. My eyes flicked over to No-neck lurking behind him. The big guy’s eyes watched me with an expression I’d seen before and didn’t like. One that suggested he was going to get to hurt me, if he was very, very good and I was very, very bad. I looked back to Daleman. “I don’t need your help.”

  Dawson took this moment to try to snatch up the coins and paper, but I was ready. I pulled the throwing knife from inside my bra and stabbed it down into the table and between two of his fingers. The blade thudded deep into the wood and Dawson gave a scream. I leant forward, the cigarillo tucked in the corner of my mouth.

  “I won’t miss next time.”

  Dawson’s face went a funny colour, sort of puce-like. He lurched to his feet and I let him go, watching as he stumbled over to the bar. I stared back at the money, feeling a bit sour. Since I owed Daleman money, it seemed in bad taste to pocket it in front of him. So I just waited as he sat down in the vacated chair.

  Daleman wasn’t a huge guy. He was tall and wiry, with shortcut hair and a pencil moustache lining his top lip. His skin was a smooth caramel and soft lashes framed his dark brown eyes. He looked like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth, but I knew better. He worked sometimes for the Reaper Street Gang as a Fixer, but mostly worked as a moneylender. I’d heard once he was ex-City Watch, let go after he kicked a few prisoners to death.

  I dropped the cigarillo on the ground and ran a toe over it, waiting for Daleman to talk. I tried to pretend I didn’t notice No-neck’s eyes trailed down my body in an interested way. His eyes settled on my cleavage and I resisted the urge to button up my woollen overcoat higher.

  “What can I do for you gentlemen?” I pushed the front of my bowler hat back.

  “Lora.” Daleman leant his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his laced fingers. “I am most disappointed that you are three weeks overdue on your loan.”

  I rubbed my chin. Had time gone by that fast? My mind went over what I had in the bank and what I had tucked away at the house. Not enough, by my tally. “Can I apply for an extension?”

  Daleman tapped his fingers against his lips. “Why would you ask me a question like that? You know very well I don’t give extensions.”

  “I’m good for it.” I tried a smile, but it came off a little shaky. “I just need to offload some things first.”

  Daleman leant back, his expression smooth. “I hope that just because you work for Master Gideon and have a special relationship with a certain City Watch Captain, you don’t think you’re above my reach.”

  I gave him my best honest look. “I’ll come good. I’ve got something lined up.”

  Daleman stood quickly, the chair sliding back noisily. I kept still, my heart drumming in my ears. My eyes were on Daleman, but I kept No-neck in the picture. He was still watching me, but hadn’t moved. Daleman leant forward, knuckles on the tabletop. His breath was sour and I forced my face to be still.

  “I’ve never had a problem with you before, Lora. What’s going on?”

  I bit my lip, my eyes darting around the room. It had gone very quiet, patrons staring hard into their drinks. “Just having some difficulties at work.”

  Daleman nodded his head slowly. “I heard. Hard to get work when people are afraid you’ll chop their heads off.”

  “It’ll blow over soon, people will forget.”

  “Just to be clear, Lady Blackgoat,” he said softly. “You and I…we are not friends. I don’t have a soft spot for you. I don’t think you’re funny. I’m not afraid of your benefactor or the elf-witch.”

  I swallowed against a dry throat. “I’m kind of funny, right?”

  Daleman went still, his eyes locked on mine. The moment was charged with something tight and frightening. I didn’t smell any darkcraft in the air, but I knew I was damned close to getting a punch in the face. Then, somehow, the moment passed. His face relaxed and he straightened. “I’ll give you a few days more. But don’t be late, Lora. I’m not some second-rate assassin with crooked aim.”

  “I get it.” I blew out a small breath. “I’m good for it.”

  Chapter 13

  I left Growlers soon after Daleman took his leave, knowing I would be gossiped about endlessly when I left. Dark clouds had come with the night, and lightning flared on the horizon. Fat splatters of water fell about me, a warning of the oncoming rainstorm.

  My feet took me through the streets of Applecross, to finally reach the front gates of the Church of Saint Pendergrast. The church was surrounded by businesses long closed down, dirty windows bordered up with rotten timber. A street lamp hissed behind me, illuminating the stone pillars that framed the church’s iron gates. Statues of cherubs sat on top of each pillar, round faces pitted with age and lichen. The church’s roof was domed and stone gargoyles perched on the ledges, peering down. The front of the church was overrun by wild garlic and the whole place had a feel of neglect.

  Considering that Applecross was populated with pagans and atheists, it was little wonder that the Church of Saint Pendergrast didn’t have an active congregation. I’d certainly never had cause to come here, though I’d had the occasional dealings with the head priest, Lacrone.

  Pushing the gate open, I cringed as the hinges squealed. My boots made crunching sounds on the gravel pathway and I took it slow, making sure the area was as deserted as it seemed. The arched doors of the church were open, the frame decorated with elegant carvings of angels and demons doing battle. I paused, lifting my face to catch a few raindrops. I wished the water could wash away what I had seen earlier in the d
ay. Something about the defiled body was firmly stuck in my mind’s eye and I couldn’t shake it. I’d seen my share of dead bodies, enough that the sight of dead weight didn’t always bother me. But Sigwell’s disastrous exorcism had left me twitchy and with Seth’s hinting about hellspawn on the loose and a contract on my head, I was jumping at shadows. Let’s not even mention The Order’s sudden creepy interest in me.

  Taking a breath, I entered the softly lit interior of the church. Despite the outside looking shabby, inside was well kept. Skeletal stone structures soared to a high ceiling and ribbed vaults arched overhead. The architecture unsettled me, making me feel like I’d entered the belly of a great beast. Flickering lamps ran down the walls on either side of the church and sturdy wooden benches were lined up neatly.

  There was a reason I hadn’t wanted to tell Caleb about my next step. Spink remained frustratingly elusive and he was the best snitch I had. I’d asked around here and there, but no one knew anything, so it was time to pull out the big guns.

  Reaching the front, I ascended the steps to a raised dais. Here, a long wooden table sat, topped with candles cupped in blue glass. A pulpit sat to the left and a few potted plants fanned out behind it. I looked around for evidence of the Calling Circle burnt into stone that Caleb had been talking about, but all I saw were pale flagstones that looked brand spanking new.

  It had been some time since my thoughts had turned to religion. I had little faith in the popular Church of Higher Path and even smaller faith in the men who ran it. My gaze swept the floor, looking for evidence of what had happened here. I had expected to feel something, like a residue of evil, but after a long moment, I just felt cold and bored.

  “Lora?”

  Turning, I saw the priest Lacrone approach from an antechamber door. He was short of stature and had scraggly grey hair. His eyes were rheumy and his nose blistered with red patches. He wore his heavy, dark priestly garb, complete with the little four-cornered white hat. Because Lacrone took a more liberal view on life, he’d survived here longer than his predecessors in Applecross. I’d sent word earlier, requesting some privacy for a poke-around.

  “We’re alone?” My eyes searched the shadowed corners of the church. “You’re sure?”

  “Of course.” Lacrone gave a lazy yawn and I smelt wine on his breath. “It’s been at least three weeks since it happened. No one cares anymore.” His eyes took on a curious glint. “Though perhaps you’d like me to stay? I can’t imagine what you think you’re going to find here.”

  “I want to be left alone.” I leant on my cane, massaging my tired leg muscles. “Don’t suppose you know anything about what happened?”

  Lacrone scratched his backside with an absent look. “Nephilim messing with darkcraft, is what I reckon. The bodies looked half-eaten, and a Calling Circle was burnt right into the flagstones, if you can believe it.” He made a sweeping gesture around the dais. “The Grigori swept in and took everything. Carted away the bodies and started bringing in equipment to rip up the ruined flagstones. Then the City Watch showed and there was a bit of confusion. Everyone got rather hot and bothered about it all.” He tapped his nose in a knowing way. “But I got here even before the Grigori showed.”

  “And?” I promoted, when he lapsed into a contemplative silence. Lacrone roused himself, and said, “Got a small souvenir. Thought it might be worth something to someone like yourself.”

  “You took something from the scene of the crime?” I was impressed. It was a level above the sneakiness I expected from him. Lacrone nodded, his face pasty-white at the admission, but eyes coloured with greed. “What did you take?” I asked.

  “I could send it to you,” he said cryptically. “For a price.”

  “Depends on what you’re offering.”

  “Let me do some thinking on it first.”

  “Are you trying to negotiate?”

  “I’m sure there are other parties who would be interested in what I have.” Lacrone was trying to play hardball, but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it. His hands were fluttering around his neckline like he felt a noose there. I was pretty sure the Grigori would have something to say about Lacrone removing evidence from a crime scene.

  “You could try to sell to someone else,” I said slowly. “But could they guarantee you the anonymity I can? You think I would give you up if the Grigori priests tried to find out who’d taken evidence from a crime scene?”

  Lacrone’s fluttering fingers wiped some sweat off his forehead, then he said, “Alright, alright, I’ll send it to you. I just don’t have it here.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Lacrone licked his lips, face turning a sickly green colour. Hoping he wasn’t going to vomit, I stared at him expectantly. He caught the look and pressed fingers to his chest with a hurt expression. “Oh. You want me to leave now?”

  “That would be nice.”

  “Are you sure? Maybe I could help you find clues.”

  “You want that donation to your retirement fund, or not?”

  Lacrone looked like he wanted to argue some more, but then his shoulders slumped and he left the way he’d come. I took a moment to listen to the quiet. A funny feeling grew on me; a prickling up my arms. I checked the shadows again, pausing suspiciously at one awkward shape beside a tall column halfway down the aisle. Biting my lip, I focused my energy. An aura shimmered, one that was as familiar to me as his broad, naked shoulders. “You can come out, you know. I can see you,” I said.

  Seth emerged from the shadows. “Lora. Don’t tell me you’re trying to find religion?”

  “You following me, Captain?”

  Seth approached, his long legs taking the dais steps two at a time. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here?”

  Giving him a curious glance, I dumped my satchel on the ground, laying my cane beside it. Shoving my hat back, I crouched down and fished out my book of spells. I’d never revealed to anyone I owned this book and its contents. Knowing Seth was prone to bending the rules himself, I decided I could take the chance. I hoped he’d be impressed, as opposed to arresting me.

  “Lora?” Seth prompted.

  “You ever hear of Apertor Elixir?” I remembered a snippet of the conversation with the Grigori priest at the Black Bear.

  “Why do you want to know?” Seth asked, voice cautious.

  I glanced up at him and frowned. I wasn’t in the mood for games. “Do you know anything about it or not?”

  His look turned considering and I wondered what he was thinking. “It’s only supposed to work for Witch Hunters,” he said finally. “You see, all contact with the craft is an abomination in the eyes of the Church of Higher Path. It is the height of blasphemy to tap into the sacred ley-lines, seeking the attention of the One True God. But there’s a loophole in the scriptures that the Grigori use. It suggests that connecting to the ley-lines without a conduit is the Will of God. So they found a way that works with a Witch Hunter’s genetics. They mixed rare alchemical ingredients together and came up with something that works on the Witch Hunter’s nervous system, ripping open the third eye. It lets them connect to the ley-lines for a short period.”

  “That sounds dangerous.” I turned back to my book, flipping through its brittle pages, searching for the spell I wanted. If this elixir could connect you to the lines without the aid of salt, maybe it would be worthwhile getting my hands on some. My skills in the craft were somewhat limited to knock-around spells and a handful of hexes. Anything bigger? Forget it. I didn’t have the skill.

  “It is, so I wouldn’t recommend messing with it. It would be very difficult magic to control and hard to endure. Who knows what it could do to someone who wasn’t a Witch Hunter?” He stepped closer to me, trying to get a look at the book I held. “You want to tell me why you’re here?”

  “Gideon asked me to look into who this Applecross killer was,” I lied, wanting to shield Caleb. “Thought I might call on a source.”

  I pulled out the flask I’d purchased from the peddler,
unscrewing the lid. The liquid was thick and smelt like rusty iron. I poured a circle, careful to keep the line unbroken.

  “Lora, what are you doing?” Seth’s voice was alarmed, like he knew what I was up to and couldn’t believe it. I didn’t have any problems with my plan. After all, I didn’t pray to the cranky God of the High Path, so why would I care if this could be seen as sacrilegious?

  “Relax. I’ve done this before.” Finishing the circle, I screwed the flask lid closed and returned it to my satchel. I stood, my knee popping, and read from the book. The writing was spidery and small and I had to squint. The coarse language of hell wasn’t easy: it was all about how you spat out your vowels and swallowed your consonants. The words rolled awkwardly out of my mouth, my throat grating.

  “Lora!” Seth barked my name as a warning. He lunged towards me, hands upraised, as if to knock the book from my grasp. I dodged him and finished the spell. Seth made another move to grab the book, but I just shrugged at him, closing the book. He stopped cold, his face furious and eyes locked on the circle. I wasn’t sure why he was making such a fuss. As far as I knew, he wasn’t a believer either.

  There was an audible popping sound as air rushed into a vacuum caused by a demon’s adjunct into the earthly plane. I stuck a finger in my ear to clear it, bending over to tuck the book back into the satchel.

  “Lady Blackgoat? Is that you?” The hellspawn’s voice was like a wolf’s growl. “It’s been a while.”

  “Well met, Morious,” I said politely.

  The hellspawn was short and squat, with a head that was large and bulbous, his complexion like a clean blue summer sky. He wore a crumpled grey suit with a small pink bow tie. His eyes dropped to the Calling Circle. “Could you have made it any smaller? And how about a chair next time?”