Chaos Born

by Rebekah Turner

  Light footsteps approached and Roarke stepped away from me quickly. I rubbed my arms, glaring at Roarke. If he thought he could scare me, then he was probably right, but I’d rather eat dirt than let him see that. Dyllon and Roman reappeared from around the corner.

  “No guards. Let’s move.” Roman adjusted the coiled whip at his belt, looking as if its weight reassured him more than it should. The quick-draw rig chafed against my forearm and I felt sick, knowing I might have to use it. What if I was right? What if the theatre was host to Andela’s coven? What if she turned us all into toads? Made our heads explode like overripe watermelons? Or worse, ratted me out to Orella and Gideon? Helping a unit of Regulators on a witch-hunt wasn’t exactly going to raise my popularity stakes. I hoped if we did find her, she’d blow up Roarke’s head first, but figured probably she wouldn’t be the sort to take requests.

  Roman’s voice broke through my worry. “Roarke, Gore, Kruger, you’ll circle around the back. Dyllon, Lora and I will go in front.”

  I wanted to shake a fist at Roman and shout that there were other ways to find answers, surely. Before I could voice any concerns, he had hustled me out of the alley. We scuttled across the deserted road and through the broken doors of the theatre.

  The once grand lobby had been lined with walls of mirrors, which now lay in filthy shards on a rotted carpet. A charred ticket booth sat beside a large wooden door. Roman withdrew his sword from his spine sheath. He motioned me forward, and I saw the door looked alarmingly new. I stood close, examining the doorframe. Dyllon was close behind me, pistol drawn and breathing fast.

  “What do you make of it?” Roman asked me. “Is it safe to enter?”

  The door was a heavy affair, studded with iron bolts. The shiny doorhandle looked suspiciously innocent. Something glimmering at the top and I squinted at it. “There’s a protective hex on the doorframe,” I told him softly.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “It’s written in wax, I think,” I breathed. “I had similar ones to protect my home.”

  “So break them,” Dyllon said from behind me. “What are you waiting for?”

  I knew I didn’t need salt. I just knew I didn’t. A small part of my mind screamed the significance of this. Was I a Witch Hunter, after all? I shoved the thought aside. The power raced through me and I raised a tentative hand towards the spell, trying to bring the hex into focus. The wax shone under my scrutiny and I began to make out the symbols of power. My fingertips hummed as they crept closer, then encountered resistance.

  “I can’t break the spell.” I withdrew my hand. “It’s too strong.”

  “Can we just punch through?” Roman’s voice sounded close.

  “No.” I shook my head. “It could kill you.”

  Roman’s fingers brushed against the base of my neck and a small tremor shuddered through me. “Try to break it.” His voice, a low rumble, combined with his touch felt intensely intimate. I looked up into his brutal face. His eyes fixed on me, waiting, expectant. Freaked out by my body’s reaction to him, I turned back to the hex, dipping into one of my salt pouches. I didn’t need it, but the ritual calmed me and I didn’t want Roman having the satisfaction he was right, that the elixir had worked.

  The grains flew from my fingers as I moved quickly, tracing symbols in the air, repeating the pattern I could see on the doorframe. The tips of my fingers began to glow white and the skin on my face pulled as the air sparked with power. I’d never flown so fast with a spell like this. Perhaps there was something to be said for the Regulator’s shitty potion after all. As I conjured the spell, trying to mimic the hex and insert weakness into it, the connection to the ley-lines pulled at me; a weight beneath my feet.

  A heavy bittersweet taste flooded my mouth and I frowned. It suddenly smelt as if I was wielding darkcraft. The dark magic crawled up my arms and whispered low and seductively in my ears. It felt as if it could worm into my chest and squeeze the life out. I sensed someone moving behind me and shifted to see Dyllon stepping away from me, face suspicious. I looked at Roman, but his expression gave no indication he sensed anything wrong. Biting my lip my anxiety notching higher, I turned back to the door, as my fingers came to the end of the spell. From the corner of my eyes, I could make out a faint outline of the stray, rotten tentacle I’d seen outside, drifting in the air, waiting. I finished the breaking spell, and pushed it towards the door. The spell floated faintly through the air, hit the door and dissolved. There was a pause. I sensed something powerful on the other side suddenly pay attention. The metallic scent of blood filled my nostrils; as the power behind the door beckoned, inviting me in. Then a teeth-clattering crash sounded as the door exploded inwards, spitting wood and metal. Roman stepped into the darkness beyond, with me dogging his heels.

  Chapter 21

  We hurried down a short hallway, stepping over fallen chunks of plaster and debris. The damp smell of mildew made the air thick to breathe. There was a closed door at the end, light flickering under it. I was having trouble concentrating, my thoughts flitting about. My heartbeat was like a drum in my ears and sweat stung my eyes. The ley-line undercurrents swayed and pulled at me, and my body wanted to rock with them. This was not my idea of a good time. It wasn’t natural to have such a direct connection to the lines. A normal spell only needed the briefest touch, more than enough fuel. Any spell I cast, in this state, was going to have an explosive amount of power behind it.

  I nearly stumbled into Roman’s back and realised he’d stopped. He turned and I backed up a step, my shoulder hitting Dyllon. “Can you tell us what we’re walking into?” Roman asked me.

  I rolled my eyes. “A trap?”

  “As long as we’ve got that sorted.” He lifted a foot and kicked the door open. The wood gave easily, hinges popping off. Roman strode in, drawing the sword from his spine sheath with a metallic hiss. Beyond the broken door was a large auditorium with a gilded dome ceiling. Silk draperies hung rotten and grey against the walls and a stage hunkered at the front of the room, framed by ornate plaster. On the stage, a peculiar thorny briar patch grew, forest green vines coiling in on themselves like an earth-bound kraken. A solitary woman was at centre stage, sitting on a wing chair and smoking a cigarette.

  Dyllon stood beside me, his eyes locked on the thicket. He’d drawn his wheellock pistol in one hand, a knife in the other.

  Roman glanced back at me, looking smug. “Looks like you’re a Witch Hunter after all.”

  I frowned but didn’t reply, too worried I actually had led us into the Spider Witch’s coven.

  At the base of the stage, a small crowd huddled around a deep pit. They were cheering and clapping, their shadows twisted silhouettes from the long torches driven into the ground around them. As we got closer, my eyes returned to the unnatural bramble and the woman in the chair. She was wearing a leather corset over a purple dress, hair plaited and looped around her head with dark ribbons woven throughout. Her eyes were shut and she smoked with slow movements, as if she wasn’t even aware of us.

  As if.

  My connection to the ley-lines was fading; I could feel it leeching out of me. I scrabbled to hold on a moment longer and my hands pulsed with a blue light as we approached the crowd. They looked unarmed, save for faces carved with a viciousness I didn’t like the look of. Their attention was fixated on whatever was in the pit. I pulled my cane from its strap. If there was going to be a shit-fight, then I could swing a sword quicker than I could cast salt.

  “Everyone here is in violation of the Anti-Heretic Law,” Roman roared. The crowd stopped their cheering, scores of eyes turning to settle on us, glinting wetly in the torchlight. “We are authorised to arrest you,” Roman continued. “You will submit to the judgement of The Order. Surrender now, and your loved ones may be spared.”

  Reluctantly, I dragged my eyes to the stage. The woman had opened her eyes. They were a liquid blue and zeroed in on me. I looked away, feeling a rush of guilt.

  Someone screamed: “Raid!” a
nd pandemonium ensued. People ran in all directions, some heading straight for us, others for exits. A young man fell in front of me, his eyes rolling in terror, panic buckling his legs. I stepped back from him, shame washing over me in a hot wave. Regulator’s had the authority to execute darkcraft practitioners on the spot. They had the power of judge, jury and executioner in a situation like this. If Roman and his men felt like it, they could kill everyone here tonight and it would be inside the law.

  I ducked around a few people who ran straight at me. Dyllon came up, knocking one of them down with the hilt of his dagger, pointing his wheellock at another and firing. The gun boomed, echoing off the ceiling and missed its target. Dyllon cursed and began to reload, while I followed Roman towards the pit.

  The wooden floorboards had been ripped up and the ground smelt freshly dug. My moral unease disappeared as I looked down. The hole was nearly ten feet deep, the sides exposing a rich burgundy soil.

  “What the fuck is that?” Dyllon came along side of me, eyes glued to the creature below us. Glancing at my feet, I saw my toes touching a bloody line that ran around the lip of the pit.

  “Hellspawn,” I said sharply.

  It was female, her skin a blistering vermillion colour. Her legs and arms moved in a disjointed fashion as she dismembered a lifeless, naked body of a man. I grimaced at the crunching and slurping noises as the hellspawn ate. She glanced up and spied us. With a howl, she hoisted the dead man above her head, a pair of flat breasts swaying from her scaled torso.

  “Look out,” I said and ducked as the mutilated body sailed over us, landing with a fleshy thump.

  I stepped back from the Calling Circle, looking at Roman. He was staring with revulsion at the hellspawn, one hand on his whip. I began to ask Roman where the rest of his unit was, but a glance up at the stage stole the question from my lips. The woman was standing, blue eyes flashing furious. She finished her cigarette and tossed it over her shoulder. It landed on a thorny vine and I could have sworn it moved, shaking the burning stub off itself.

  “I am Andela of Arcanus. How dare you soil my coven?” Her words rolled over me like a wave of surging power. My hands flew to my ears, my cane dropping to the ground. “Kneel before Darkwitch Andela. You will kneel and ask forgiveness.”

  The power was too much and my lame leg buckled completely, even with the brace. My knees hit the ground with a sharp jolt. I managed to turn my head and see Roman and Dyllon also on their knees. Blood was running from Roman’s nose, his face tight with fury.

  A group of otherkin emerged from a recess in the massive tangle of thorns. Their backs were distorted by twisted muscle, faces sloped and eyes wide apart. They jumped nimbly down the front steps, armed with axes. Their wide nostrils flared, eyes hungry for violence as they surrounded us.

  “Surrender your weapons, Regulators,” Andela said. The rolling power of her words receded and I gave a gasp of relief. “Or I will have you cut down where you kneel.”

  I heard the dull thud of Roman and Dyllon’s weapons as they were thrown down. I glanced up at the otherkin closest to me. He had giant gorilla arms and wore nothing more than a loincloth with suspicious stains. He stared at me sadly, like he’d really been looking forward to cutting me to pieces. I prayed Andela didn’t know about the other three Regulators. For that matter, I wondered where the hell they were.

  “We came tonight, seeking information.” Roman’s voice was strong and commanding, as if he was in complete control.

  “Yet you bring weapons.” Andela sat down in her chair and made an impatient gesture towards me. “Bring the woman to me.”

  The hairy otherkin behind me moved forward and half dragged me to the stage, pushing me up the stairs. “I’m going, I’m going.” I struggled in his grasp before he threw me down before Andela. I tried to rise, but hands pushed me back down to my knees. I tilted my head up, taking in Andela’s soft hair and porcelain skin. Something shimmered around her head, suggesting a glamour spell, so I squinted, trying to read her aura. The spell parted like warm butter and Andela’s true face stared back at me. I’d once heard a story that she’d traded her soul for heart-stopping beauty. If it was true, she deserved a refund. Andela’s true face was haggard and grey, with eyes that protruded uncomfortably and limp, greasy brown hair. Her neck looked like it had a bad case of psoriasis and her body in need of a good meal. But when I met her gaze, I felt a sudden rush of fear and knew all I’d heard had been true: the horrors that the Spider Witch lay claim to needed no further explanation. Her eyes were bright and evil, with a depth of cruelty and malice that terrified me.

  “Having a good look?” she rasped, producing a silver case from a pocket in her skirts. She tapped out a long cigarette and flipped it into her mouth. The otherkin hadn’t taken my arm-rig or my work-belt, but I figured Andela would be pretty pissed if I took a shot at her. I glanced back at my cane on the dirt floor, wondering if it was a blessing or curse that I hadn’t had time to grab it.

  “Why do you seek me, Lora Blackgoat?” Andela asked, the cigarette dancing between her lips. She crossed her legs, blowing out a long stream of smoke. “You didn’t have to go to these lengths to get my attention.”

  I swallowed a few times, then said, “I kind of didn’t have a choice.”

  The witch looked to the Regulators, forehead creasing. On its own, the tip of the cigarette flared red-hot and began to smoulder. Her eyes flicked back to me. “They forced you to hunt for them, yes?”

  “I’m not a Witch Hunter,” I protested.

  “You read auras, though, don’t you.” She whirled a finger around her head. “Sense a person’s true being, yes? Not many can do that anymore. A rare skill and very similar to having the Sight, yes? Seeing things for what they are?”

  “How did you know what I was doing?” My curiosity overrode my caution. She was the second person who’d known when I was trying to get a reading. Had I lost my touch? Could everyone sense me peeking at their auras now?

  Andela gave me a grimace that could have been a smile. “I know all there is to know about you, Lora Blackgoat. One day, we are going to be very good friends.”

  I wondered if she was one of Gideon’s lovers, or if she meant something a little more sinister. “Don’t suppose you could just let us go with a warning?” I asked, letting the whole friend-to-be thing slide. I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know.

  “I have no quarrel with you.” Andela sucked on her cigarette. Her eyes passed over the Regulators and she frowned. “The nephilim will stay behind.”

  “If you kill them, you risk making yourself a target with The Order,” I said quickly.

  “You think I care, yes?” Andela took the cigarette from her lips and flicked it at me. The sub hit me on the chin, sparking hot, then tumbled to the ground. If this was Andela being friendly, I didn’t like the odds for the Regulators surviving the night. I wondered where Gore, Kruger and Roarke were. If they were waiting for the right moment, I hoped they knew it was pretty much now. Andela fixed me with a glare, her voice edging sharp. “You think I should tremble before The Order, yes?”

  “I just don’t think you want to start that kind of trouble.” I chose my words carefully. “The kind that comes with killing a couple of Regulators. You’d never want to be so public. That’s not how you work.”

  “What would you know about how I work?” Andela leant forward in her chair. “Can you read my thoughts?”

  I tried for nonchalance. “I just know what I hear. That you like your privacy.”

  “You have an answer for everything, yes? Orella Warbreeder raised you well.”

  “There’s one thing I don’t have an answer for,” I said. “The question that made me accept the risk of trying to find you this night.”

  Andela sat back, looking mildly interested.

  “I lost a friend, by the hand of the Butcher of Applecross,” I told her. “I think you may know who or what this monster is. Or, if it has a master.”

  Andela gave an amused snor
t and her eyes flicked to the pit behind me. “I don’t know who called them forth. However, I think you know very well what you hunt. You don’t need me to confirm it.”

  “Hellspawn?” I breathed. “How could this be?”

  “Ask your mother, yes?” Andela gave a short laugh, then to my surprise, switched to Hellspeak. “Find The Key of Aldebaran. It will tell you what you need to know about your monsters.”

  “Wait,” I said, struggling to keep up. “Monsters? There’s more than one? My mother? What’s she got to do with it?”

  Andela ignored my questions, looking over my head to where the Regulators were. “Throw them in the circle with their weapons. Let’s see how well they dance.” She glanced at me. “Unless you object?”

  “Well…they are jerks,” I said, then sighed. “I can’t let you kill them.”

  Andela uncrossed her legs, rising to her feet. She walked over and bent down to gaze at me. “Do you really think you could stop me?”

  I swallowed. “I could object real loud.”

  “Then perhaps I was wrong about you, yes? I think I will let fate decide.”

  Not liking where this was going, I opened my mouth to argue, but my objections got cut short as Andela lifted a leg, kicking me squarely in the chest. The witch wasn’t a big woman, but she kicked like a donkey. The force threw me back and off the stage in an ungraceful arc, my limbs flailing wildly. My stomach lurched as I descended, then I landed hard. Choking on dirt, I rolled over, hearing shouting above me and knew I’d fallen in the pit. Heaving and gasping, I tried to get my breath, my chest pulled tight with pain. If I survived this, I knew was going to be black and blue all over come tomorrow. Hands pulled me upright, but I was too disorientated to see whom. My lame leg nearly gave out, but I was held upright by a strong grip.