“Alright,” I agreed. “I’ll be your sniffer dog. But you owe me.”
“Can’t you agree because I threatened you?”
I gave a humourless laugh. “Take a number. Step in line. And don’t bother with threatening my family. They don’t need my help in protecting themselves. So, I ask again. A favour owed, yes?”
Roman stuck out a hand. “Agreed.”
I hesitated, then put my own hand in his, shaking to seal the deal. His skin was firm and calloused, and a peculiar feeling sparked up my arm. A small jolt of friction, a promise of something larger behind it. Roman’s eyes widened and I knew he must have felt it too. I tried to pull free, but his grip tightened, eyes narrowing.
“What are you?”
“Let me go.” I pulled my hand, feeling panicked. He frowned down at our hands, as if he didn’t even understand why he was still holding me. My hand came free and I stumbled back a step. Our eyes locked, taking measure of each other. Shaking off the heebie-jeebies, I broke the gaze and headed for the stairs. Hearing footsteps behind me, I stuttered to a halt when I realised the Regulator was following me. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’m following you,” he said slowly, like I’d gone soft in the head.
I held a hand up. “I need to change and this ain’t no peepshow. You stay down here until I come and get you.”
He stepped into my hand, letting it push against his chest. The daggers were cold under my skin. He lifted his own hands, covering mine. “No chance.”
I snatched my hand away and stomped up the stairs, calling him bad words in my head.
Chapter 19
Roman stood outside my bedroom, the door open and his back to me. I dressed quickly in black clothes and strapped a brace over my lame leg, securing it nice and tight. At the tearing sound of the Velcro straps, Roman glanced around, eyes dropping to the brace.
“Is that from the Outlands?” he asked.
I gave a mute nod, rolling up my left sleeve and attaching Roper’s rig.
“What kind of gun is that?” Roman took a few steps into the room, face curious. I rolled my sleeve down quickly, not wanting him to see the rather illegal Outland gun.
“Nothing. I mean, a small derringer.”
“Wheellock or flint?”
“Ah, wheellock. I had it specially made by a tinker.”
Roman gave a thoughtful nod, then pointed at the leg-brace. “What happened to you?”
“What’s with the twenty questions?” I asked tersely.
Roman smiled at my tone and that just pissed me off more. I sat on the edge of my bed and shoved my feet into a pair of black tanker boots. They were special boots; if you stomped just right, a retractable blade snapped out of the toes. Standing, I shoved my hands into a pair of gloves, then swept on a coat with a deep cowl. My work-belt was next, then my cane looped onto my back, secured by a leather strap.
“Ready,” I said, feeling like a ninja.
In consideration for those guarding the house, our route went via my bedroom window. We hopped out onto the tree limbs and climbed up to the roof. It had been many years since I’d exited my home this way. The smell of sap and bark reminded me of a less complicated time and the weight of the day lifted a little as I scraped my hands and got sap in my hair. Roman made the small leap to the roof, then held a hand out to me. I grabbed it, deciding my pride wasn’t worth plunging to my death.
Huffing a little from the climb, I paused to admire the view. Sloping rooftops and puffing chimney’s spread before us, the glow of the street lamps giving the city a hazy, smoky glow. If I squinted and used my imagination, I could almost make out the ocean in the distance. Turning around, I could see the Harken Clock Tower, its tall spires stretching for the heavens. Overhead, the moon was the merest sliver in the sky’s dark curtain, the stars invisible. We negotiated the rooftop to the edge, where Roman checked the end of a rope tied to my chimney. Strangely, he was acting as if we were going to go down it. Suddenly, I didn’t feel like being a ninja anymore.
“What about the guards down there?” I whispered.
Roman grinned at me, then stepped over the side of the building and rappelled down silently. I stretched my fingers in my leather gloves, feeling the stiffness of the steel sewn into the top of the hand and knuckles. Roman was nuts. Nuts, nuts, nuts. And I was just as nuts as he was. If not more, since I had some idea of what Andela was capable of. I wasn’t sure Roman had any idea, or he wouldn’t have even suggested this plan.
With rope burn and plummeting to my death on my mind, I grasped the rope and tried to follow Roman’s movements, my feet pushing and stepping down the side of my house. Grasping the rope in a death-grip, I peered down the two-storey building. The side street below was encased in darkness, but I thought I could make out Roman’s form, peering up at me. I exhaled slowly. My hands were burning, my feet braced heavy against the wall. Then, hands were grabbing me and I realised I had reached the ground. My feet hit and I stumbled. Roman’s arms were around me then, pulling me against his body.
“Stop it.” I pushed away.
“Stop what?”
“Stop smelling me. I can hear you sniffing. It’s creepy.”
Roman grinned. “You smell like liquor. But also like something else.”
“Kianna’s tits,” I huffed. “What else do I smell like?”
I expected a quick retort about Witch Hunters, but Roman’s smile disappeared. “Something that can’t be.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he had slipped off in the night, hurrying down the alleyway. With an exasperated sigh, I followed.
Chapter 20
In Applecross, the sight of a steel studded Regulator coach was catalyst for street peddlers to close shop, working girls to fade into alleys and mother’s to collect frightened children into their arms.
The coaches never looked like they were built for comfort, with their iron barred windows and sullen grey paint jobs. I soon discovered the interior wasn’t much better, with unforgiving wooden seats and a floor grubby with old bloodstains. A brass lamp swung on a hook, a little too close to my head for comfort, and I had to duck every time the coach navigated a corner.
We’d been travelling for nearly fifteen minutes and I was trying not to choke on the cloying stench of sweaty man-parts and testosterone. Roman was wedged next to me and two other Regulators sat opposite. One was the greybeard I’d threatened at The Scarlet Wren, and the other was the drunken young nephilim who’d passed out. The greybeard had been introduced as Kruger, the young nephilim as Dyllon. Two more Regulators sat outside on the driver’s perch: Gore and Roarke. I recognised Roarke as the smarmy bastard with the gold tooth who’d cracked the fat joke back in The Scarlet Wren.
No one looked happy to meet me and I tried to convey the feeling was mutual. Kruger chewed a toothpick, while Dyllon had settled for the brooding, distant look most nephilim seemed to be fond of. I stared at the floor myself, playing a Rorschach game with the bloodstains. I’d just made out the shape of a unicorn, when I felt Roman lean in towards me, his voice low. “If something goes wrong when you drink the elixir, or if you turn on us, I will kill you. Understand?”
“What would be your first clue I was turning?” I growled. “I want to stick a dagger in your back right now – ow!”
The lamp whacked my head as the coach came to an abrupt stop. Roman opened the back door and I climbed out behind him, rubbing the sore spot on my head. I took a deep breath of fresh night air, only to be assaulted with rank brine and rotten fish. Gagging, I checked the night sky for bearings and saw we were close to the harbour, maybe on the border of Old Town, a derelict neighbourhood credited to being where the city had first sprung up. The area was a hodgepodge of narrow streets and empty buildings. Warehouses loomed around us, brick fronts crawling with ivy. The Venitia Theatre sat squeezed between the warehouses; a relic of when the Council of Ten had tried to rejuvenate the area. The theatre had shown one play before it was torched by vindictive union
ists who felt they’d gotten a raw deal from the Council in the construction.
Now, charred timber poked from the ceiling like ribs, it had gaping black pits for windows, peeling plaster and crumbling brickwork. A nighthawk’s lonely cry wafted overhead, and the sound of washing waves reached my ears, muffled by the tall buildings around us. A few streets down, snatches of revelry and accordion playing could be heard from the dockside saloons.
Gore leapt down from the drivers perch. He thudded to the ground, holding a massive axe at his belt steady. “I hope your information was right, Sergeant,” he said to Roman. “For this hunt to be worth it.”
“Isn’t that why we brought her?” Roarke jumped down next to Gore. His eyes were fixed on me, gold tooth winking in a shark-like smile. “She’ll fight the hocus-pocus battles for us.”
I wasn’t sure what hocus-pocus battle he was referring to, but since Andela of Arcanus was involved, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to be casting shit against anyone.
“That’s right, isn’t it, love?” Roarke zeroed in on me. While he was human, instinct warned me he was more dangerous than the nephilim. At least they lived and died by a code of honour. I didn’t need to read Roarke’s aura to know his moral centre was rotten. I turned away, not wanting to encourage further attention from him. “Why are we here?” I asked Roman.
“A reliable source said one of Andela’s covens operates in this area,” Roman answered.
This was news to me and I didn’t like the sound of it. “What kind of source would give up the location of a coven?”
“A dead one,” Roarke laughed, making a gutting motion. “That’s how the Sergeant gets his information, isn’t it?”
I stared at Roman, hoping he was going give a better explanation. Roman was silent and my lip curled in disgust. “You didn’t say you already had a location,” I said tightly. “I thought that was what you wanted me for, to hunt.”
“We don’t know exactly where she is,” Roman answered. “And we’ll need your skills with the craft. We can’t fight magic with a bullet or blade.”
“This is insane.” I swiped my forehead, feeling a little panicked. “It’s dangerous to use the craft at the moment. Things haven’t been stable since the night of the red moon.”
Roman ignored me, addressing his men. “Weapons check. Make sure your pistols are primed.”
There was a creak of leather as everyone looked over their weapons, breathing plumes of white fog in the chilled night. Roman stepped close and passed me a copper amulet strung on a length of leather. I took it, seeing a spell stamped inside, written in chunky goblin script. “A protection charm,” he said. “Make sure it sits clean against your skin. It might help protect you against any trouble with the ley-lines.”
“Might?” I placed the amulet around my neck and tucked it into my vest. It clinked against the charm of Anon, feeling unnaturally cold against my skin. Goosebumps danced down my arms as Roman pulled a small metal flask from a pocket inside his vest and held it out to me. “You only need a small mouthful. It will connect you to the lines temporarily. Enough time for what we have to do.”
“I changed my mind. I don’t want to drink it and you can’t make me,” I mashed my lips together.
“Yes, I can.” Roman loomed over me, shoulders tight. “I’ll hold your nose until you choke on it.”
“Look. It’s like I said, it won’t work, I’m no Witch Hunter.”
Roman relaxed a little, the flask still held out for me to take. “What are you then?”
“She’s chicken,” Gore rumbled softly. The corners of Roman’s eyes crinkled.
“Is that it? You’re scared?” he asked. “Worried that you might discover you’re a Witch Hunter after all?”
I rolled my eyes and snatched the flask up. “Fine. Anything to shut you up.” I unscrewed the lip, sniffed inside and grimaced. “It smells like shit.”
Kruger cleared his throat. “Ah, Sergeant? Are you sure about this?”
“No,” Roman’s voice was flat. “But it’s not open to debate. We need her.”
“Maybe Brother Kruger is right, maybe this isn’t such a good idea,” Gore said. “If we aren’t sure what she is.”
I lowered the flask from under my nose and flashed my dimples at Roman. “Sounds like you might have a mutiny on your hands. I’d be happy to reschedule this play date for another time.”
“Drink it.”
“But—”
“Now.”
Grumbling some more, I braced myself and took a shot from the flask. A thick molasses-like ingredient slipped down my throat and I gasped at the lemon bitter taste. “That was almost the worst thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.” I spat saliva on the ground. “Now what?”
Roman said, “You’ll find out soon enough.”
“Well, you’d better hope—”
My limbs stiffened as white pain raced from my fingers to my neck, then flooded my vision, blinding me. Pain spiked my spine and my muscles convulsed a few times. Somewhere outside of myself, I felt hands grasp me, then I was on ground, a weight on my chest. A few screaming seconds passed, then pain washed from my body like a falling tide. I felt my senses widen and expand. I could make out a figure leaning over me, holding me down, but I couldn’t see who it was through wavering colours of silver and white. Rolling my eyes around, I saw that the world had become strange shapes and colours. Near me, an illuminated line ran along the earth, floating like a languid reed caught in water. Small firefly-like creatures wafted lazily through the air. I tried to catch one, only to find my hands pinned by my side. Trying to concentrate, I heard voices muffled above me.
I wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of the right words. I was okay. Wasn’t I?
Then I saw it. Another type of line, running beside the light one. This secondary line was rotten, oozing something slimy and foul, pulsating like a smoker’s lung. I saw that it deviated from the bright line, running directly to the Venitia Theatre.
A rustling noise caught my attention and as I watched, a tentacle formed out of the rotten line, probing its way towards me. Stifling a scream, I tried to backpedal, wanting to keep away from that searching finger. But I was still being held and struggled in vain. Terror choked me. I watched helplessly as the tentacle stopped a little way off, as if waiting patiently for something.
I squeezed my eyes shut. Concentrated on coming out of the high. Firing up my willpower, I imagined a white dot in the centre of my mind and focused on it like my life depended on it. The numbness in my limbs began to fade and I could feel the hands that held me.
“I’m alright.” I could hear my voice in my ears. I blinked my eyes, my sight starting to clear, senses returning to normal. I realised something heavy was on my chest, restricting my breathing. My hearing cleared and I caught snatches of someone talking.
“—eyes are back.”
Roman’s face was over mine and I realised he was straddling me, his face tight. The amulet beat hot and heavy against my chest. Roman didn’t move, but I felt hands let go of my arms.
“I’m alright,” I repeated, trying not to stare into his endless shadowed eyes.
“What did she say?” I heard someone else behind Roman.
“I’m alright now.” I licked my lips, finding them dry and cracked. “The Venitia Theatre. There’s something in the old theatre.”
Roman said nothing to this, but got to his feet. I sat up, head spinning.
“I’ve never seen anyone react like that.” Roman helped me up and I brushed myself off with shaking hands, thankful I’d been able to pull myself out of the trance I’d gone into. A tingling feeling was running through my body now and I felt like laughing, full with bristling energy.
Roman pulled his cloak about him. “Brother Dyllon and I will scout a way in.” He glanced at me. “Don’t try anything funny.”
“What am I going to try, out here in the middle of fucking nowhere?” I muttered to myself, watching as the two nephilim moved stealthily across t
he street, keeping to the shadows. Shivering, I rubbed my arms and realised the remaining Regulators were all staring at me speculatively. I clamped down on the energy, tried to keep my feet still.
“A female Witch Hunter, eh?” Gore’s face was dubious. “You don’t smell like one.”
“How would you know what one would smell like, stupid?” Roarke said, then turned to me. “Whatever you are, I’d ask you to be careful with our Sergeant. He seems very taken with you.”
“What?” My hands crept towards my armpits.
Roarke shifted to lean against the building behind him. The daggers strapped across his chest caught a nearby lamp light, the dark metal shining. “I’m thinking maybe the Sergeant found true love.”
“Bad business,” Gore mumbled into his beard. “Bad business when our kind fall for women.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I remarked.
“There’d be no future with him, you know,” Roarke was still talking.
Feeling like this conversation was going in a rather peculiar direction, I glanced at Kruger, hoping he’d say something to shut Roarke up. But he just stroked his long plaited beard and frowned at me. “Thanks for the advice,” I muttered. I barely had time to react as Roarke came forward like a grease slick. Backing up, I tripped over a loose stone. One of his hands shot out to steady me, his grip too tight, showing me his strength. I wasn’t impressed and let my face show it. Roarke leant close.
“Some nephilim, they’re not right in the head, you know? You understand what I’m saying, little girl?”
“That’s enough, Roarke.” Kruger was suddenly there, well-worn lines on his forehead. I stared defiantly at Roarke and shook him loose. What exactly was he trying to say? That Roman was unstable? Didn’t he realise that everyone thought Regulators were unstable?
Chaos Born Page 15
