Chaos Born

by Rebekah Turner

  Fowler’s face had been impassive, then the lifted a hand to pinch his chin. He looked amused. “If that were true, if he had been operating under my instructions, what of it? Your duty was to retrieve my goods.” He leant forward slightly and I caught a choking smell of incense. “It’s not as if something had happened to him.”

  A small part of me wanted to flash dimples and throw out a veiled insult. But only a very small part. I’d killed Roper, had made my choice and that was my burden to carry. I stared back into Fowler’s eyes like I had nothing to hide. If this fucker wanted to play who-blinks-first, he’d lose.

  Fowler straightened, swung his hands behind his back and looked generally pleased with himself. “You know, Lady Blackgoat, I could have you locked up for what you’ve done here tonight. Ambrose was not specific on what you wanted from the library, but I am sure you threatened him.”

  A tense silence stretched out. I unfolded my arms and dangled them nice and easy by my side. Running wasn’t an option and I was pretty sure I knew where Roman’s loyalties lay, despite all his sniffing around me and curious questions. I hoped I could bluff my way out the front, rather than into a Grigori prison cell. I opened my mouth, trying to think of something to say, but for once, I came up empty.

  “I invited her.”

  Both Fowler and I turned to stare at Roman.

  “You did?” Fowler’s voice was steady, his words heavy with disbelief. “Then why did you attack the boy and take his robe?”

  I didn’t blink. “He looked at me funny. I taught him a lesson.”

  “I see.”

  “It had been my intention to show the Lady Blackgoat the men training, and how we operated.” Roman’s hands were curled into fists. It was a bad lie and we all knew it. I was torn between setting the record straight or keeping on the path of my mission. I’d discovered the book was missing and Fowler had access. That was a good clue, right? It was worth all this, right?

  Fowler pointed to my bloodstained clothes, peeking out from under the stolen robe. “Were you in a fight?”

  “A scuffle before I got here.” Licking my lips, I decided to try something and hoped my luck held. Focusing on the Grigori priest, I read his aura. It winked back at me, clear and blue as a midday sky, full of perky righteousness and zeal. No darkcraft had ever touched this man. Blinking to clear my vision, I said some creative curses in my head.

  Fowler wasn’t the warlock.

  Roman had gone ramrod straight, eyes locked on me and rimmed with alarm. Fowler didn’t notice, his attention riveted on me. “I don’t suppose you have reconsidered the deal I offered your benefactor?”

  “Not at this point.”

  He nodded slow, lips pulled tight. “A pity. Perhaps one day we will be able to change your mind.”

  The words sounded like a threat. My mouth opened like it was on automatic to say something smart, something about hell freezing over, but Roman’s face had gone a funny colour and his jaw was working away like he was grinding his teeth. I shut my mouth in case I gave him a heart attack.

  “I trust this is the last time you will be gracing us with your presence,” Fowler addressed me, but his attention was for Roman, like he was saying something else.

  Roman nodded and Fowler turned, strolling out of the courtyard like he had all the time in the world. We watched him disappear around a corner, then Roman grabbed my hand roughly to pull me the other way.

  “Let me go.” I wiggled out of his grip, but kept up the pace.

  “We don’t have much time,” Roman said through grit teeth.

  “Are you close to Fowler?” I asked, knowing I’d just served him up into a shit-load of trouble. Guilt lined my insides, all squirmy and greasy-like. There was silence, and I figured he was trying to figure out what I was really asking. Finally, Roman answered, “He was my Handler when I was young.”

  “Handler?”

  “A spiritual guide, of sorts.”

  “Sure.”

  I didn’t say anything after that, unsure how much to reveal to Roman. Maybe Fowler really did believe I was a Witch Hunter. Maybe he didn’t know anything about the connection between The Aldebaran and me. Roman lengthened his stride and I hurried to keep up as we approached the hospital’s entrance. Ducking through the low entryway, I followed the Regulator down an aisle between rows infirmary beds.

  There were only two attendants in the room, identified by their white coats, and a red cross on their chests. They ignored us, intent on examining an anxious looking patient. At the end of the room, I followed Roman through a wide archway and into what looked like an operating chamber. The room was barrel-vaulted room, with six wooden pallets lining the wall. The floor was splattered with faded rusty splotches and the air stank of burnt anise seed.

  A chubby man stood at the far end of the room, dressed in a grey smock, rolls of fat on the back of his neck glistening with sweat. His back was to us, as he attended to his business on a bench before him. Bottles of powders were scattered on the work table, along with equipment for pounding, crushing and slicing. I could hear soft splashes of water as the man before us recited something under his breath.

  My face shifted with dislike, recognising the voice. Last time I’d heard it, I’d been in agony, my body on fire with pain. Lying face down on one of the wooden pallets, I remembered nothing but screaming as I was poked and prodded.

  I cleared my throat and the fat man gave a jump and turned. His face was bloated and thin hair was slicked against a shiny scalp, save for a curl lying limply on his forehead. A pair of thick lens glasses magnified his muddy eyes three times their size. His hands held a small glass container with a lid. Inside, a dozen leeches squirmed in a murky puddle of water.

  “What do you want? I am very busy here.” His owlish eyes looked behind us, as if searching for witnesses.

  I lowered my cowl. “Remember me?”

  Grossel blinked. “Should I?”

  “I think you remember me just fine,” I said softly. “And I’ve come to ask questions about that night I was bought here.”

  “I told you, I don’t know you,” Grossel said.

  “Stop lying.” Roman made a threatening step towards Grossel, his voice grating from his throat. “Just answer her questions.”

  Grossel put the glass container on the bench behind him, then turned back to stare at me. “I said, I don’t remember you.”

  Roman took another step forward. “I told you to stop lying.”

  The surgeon tore his eyes from me and gave Roman a shrewd look. “Do you realise the trouble you’re in here? Threatening me so?”

  “Who’s making threats?” I asked. “No one’s making threats…yet.”

  “Alright, so I might remember you, what about it?” Grossel grumbled. “You were gravely injured and I treated you. You should be thanking me.”

  Grossel was trying to act calm, but I focused and saw his aura as a frantic orange halo, spiking here and there as he panicked.

  “Tell me what happened after I was bought in,” I asked.

  “What’s there to tell? You were delivered here, badly wounded. I spent most of my time at your bedside, bleeding the bad blood.” His face twisted. “Until one of the low-born creatures came and took you. Who knows what pagan ritual she performed to heal you. But you were taken before I could raise the alarm.”

  “Did anyone show interest in else take an interest in my presence?” I asked. “One of the Grigori?”

  “Of course I informed the priest on duty that night.” Grossel shifted his feet, looking uncomfortable. Or guilty, I wasn’t sure.

  “Who was the priest, exactly?” I prompted.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “You better remember, fat boy.”

  Grossel’s face paled, sweat forming on his brow. “Fowler, it was Fowler.”

  “What did he say to you, about me?” I was sure Grossel knew I what I was and that somehow Fowler was mixed up in this. How, I wasn’t sure.

  “The Grigori do no
t confide in me their thoughts,” Grossel said indignantly. “What do you take me for?”

  “A weak link in the chain,” I replied briskly. “What did you tell him about me?”

  “Part of my duties involve informing the Father on duty of anything…unusual that comes into the hospital. When I realised what you were, I sent word immediately. He came in person moments later.”

  “Because you have the Sight.” I paused, then said, “You can see what I am, can’t you. Did you tell the Fowler what I was?”

  “I told him you were a Witch Hunter, of course,” Grossel whined. “What else would I have said?”

  “You’re lying,” I said. “I know it and you know it. Hell, even the Regulator knows it. Because we all know I’m no Witch Hunter.”

  Roman surged forward and snatched up the front of Grossel’s smock. He yanked the surgeon’s face close to his own. The fat man’s shoes scrabbled for the floor, making soft scraping sounds. Roman growled, “What did you say to the Father?”

  “Look at her! She is a Witch Hunter! Anyone can see that!”

  “You’re hiding something.” Roman heaved Grossel aside and the surgeon fell to the floor with a cry. He struggled to his feet, hands massaging his throat as if feeling Roman’s hands there next. He heaved a few big breaths, then winced as Roman advanced on him again, fists clenching.

  “Alright! Alright!” Grossel threw ups his hands. “I saw past the concealment spell, I knew she was nephilim. It was impossible, but I would have sworn my life on it.”

  “What?” Roman’s step faulted. His head swung around, his eyes catching mine, wide with surprise. I looked away, staring at Grossel to see if he was lying. But Roman was standing too close to the surgeon and somehow he was interfering with the vision. All I could make out was a hazy grey cloud around Grossel’s sweaty head. Roman gave me a sharp look and I quickly blinked away the vision.

  “What did Fowler say?” I asked Grossel.

  “He wanted a vial of your blood. For testing, to make sure you were a Witch Hunter. That’s standard procedure if a mature age Hunter comes in. I know no more than that.”

  “What’s going on here?”

  Roman and I both turned to see the two attendants we saw earlier, now standing in the archway with suspicious eyes. Roman pulled me towards the small wooden door at the back of the room.

  The door led to a short corridor, then another door, and we were outside again. Roman’s hand slipped down to take my wrist, his skin warm against mine. My feet tripped over each other, trying to keep up with him, my thoughts knocking about my head, coming up with more questions. Fowler had asked for my blood? Maybe I had been wrong about him being the patsy.

  “You’ve got to get out of here.” Roman threw a look over his shoulder as we hurried along a colonnade. “How did you get in exactly?”

  “I pretended I needed a hospital.”

  Roman made an amused sound. “I’ll get a horse and ride you back to your home.”

  “No thanks. No horses for me. Get me through the gates and I’ll walk.”

  Roman opened his mouth to argue, when heard approaching footsteps. He ushered me into a shadowed conclave. We watched silently as a trio of monks hurried past us, their voices low and echoing off the walls. I went to move, but Roman pulled me back. I stared up at him, wondering if he had put it all together somehow. The death of his friend, The Butcher of Applecross. My blood. But he said nothing, just stared down at me.

  “Was the surgeon speaking the truth, then?” he asked. “Are you nephilim?”

  My mouth went dry and I gave the briefest of nods. Roman said nothing more, just towards the door. I trotted behind him silently, just wanting to get out of the oppressive walls and back into the city, where there were safe places to hide.

  We passed the back of a large building that smelt of roasting meat, rosemary and red wine. My mouth started watering and I almost asked to stay for dinner. A girl would do a lot for a nice roast beef and glass of red wine. A waddling flock of gooses eyed me warily, and a mongrel puppy trotted behind Roman. A man wearing a soiled apron appeared through a back door of the building, emptying a bucket of dirty water on the ground. He raised a hand in greeting to Roman, who returned the gesture.

  “Where are you taking me?” I asked quietly.

  We walked around a pile of hay bales near the compound wall. Roman pointed to a short tunnel that ended in a wooden door with a bar-lock. “Service entrance,” he said. “Not as well guarded as the front.”

  We entered the tunnel, me glancing nervously behind us. I couldn’t believe I’d pulled it off. The Aldebaran was missing, but its absence told me enough. The surgeon had suggested Fowler was guilty, but I didn’t think so. I was getting closer; I just needed to know more about whom Fowler worked with.

  Roman put his hand on the bar-lock, then stopped. His black eyes were trained on the floor, like he was thinking real hard. I was surprised he wasn’t grilling me with more questions, but the Regulator looked distracted by something else. I took off the scratchy robe and handed it to him. Roman took it, lifting his eyes to check out my outfit. A small smile tickled the corners of his mouth. “That’s some jacket you’ve got there.”

  “I’m pretty cool, right?”

  “That’s not quite what I was thinking.”

  I pulled the collar of the motorcycle jacket up. “The red stripe makes me run fast.”

  His sombre face broke into a small smile and he gave a short laugh, swinging the bar-lock up and pushing the door open. I hesitated, not sure how to get the information I needed from Roman. Who did Fowler work with? Or work for? Did some of the Grigori practise the dark arts, just to keep sharp? Not a far stretch to assume corruption had set in, then. The urge to spill my guts to Roman was suddenly overwhelming, the words pushing behind my teeth. I debated fluttering my eyelashes at him, throwing my dimples around, but banished the idea quickly. Roman reminded me of a tiger, with a simmering aggression behind a relaxed facade. A tiger that wanted an excuse to come out and play. I reminded myself sternly he was a Regulator, a murderer and scum. But maybe also my best hope in figuring out the identity of who had taken the Aldebaran. My fingers started fidgeting, and I forced them to be still by my side.

  “The surgeon said Fowler asked for my blood.” I tried to ignore the fluttering in my stomach and the part of me that just wanted to run.

  Roman leant against the doorframe, folding his arms over his wide chest. He stared down at me, eyes bottomless pools of night. “I heard. I was there.”

  “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”

  All trace of humour leaked from his face. “Do you want me to?”

  The words were a gentle hush. Loading with meaning. I swallowed a couple of times, finding my mouth dry. Was I inviting this Regulator into my business? Something told me once I let him in, he wouldn’t leave. But he already had heard some of my secrets. Something inside of me gave a little whimper. Hellfires, I couldn’t even believe what I was.

  “There’s a book,” I began. “A book of magic that was stolen from your library. It has spells in it that allow the impossible to happen.”

  “Like letting hellspawn enter The Weald?” Roman asked.

  “Exactly like that.” I shifted my weight, feeling my lame leg begin to throb uncomfortably. “All this book needs for the spells to work, is a kind of key.”

  “Blood.” Roman stepped forward. I watched, mesmerized as he lifted a hand to touch the bandaid on my neck. His finger lifted to run along my jaw and the touch sent my body into overdrive, shivers crawled through me and making my toes curl.

  “Your blood,” he whispered.

  “You sure put that together fast.” My words came out in a rush of air. Roman was standing over me now and I had to crane my head back to look him in the face. His

  “I guess I’m smarter than I look then,” Roman murmured, lowering his face towards me. He pushed my chin up; gentle but firm. Then his mouth covered mine, lips a gentle caress. Desire burned through
me, like a roaring inferno and I opened my mouth to him with a low moan. Roman pushed me against the wall of the tunnel, into the recess of the darkest shadows. His arms were around me now, pulling me tight as the kiss became deep. With a sudden movement, he lifted me up, resting my legs either side of his hips. He pressed himself hard against me and my legs wrapped around him like it was the most natural place for them to be. His hands were strong under my thighs, like I weighed nothing. And didn’t that just make me melt a little more. He pulled back a little, the kiss lightning. I pushed my lips forward, wanting more, wanting to taste more of him. Something inside of me had flared up, consuming all rational thought, save one. I wanted him. And I wanted him badly. Roman’s lips became feather light. I groaned softly, then gasped as he nipped my lower lip. The sharp pain sent a shiver of excitement through me. He was sucking gently at my lip now and I moved my hips against him, squeezed my thighs around his hips. A strong pressure began to build inside of me, a wave roaring in the distance of something to come.

  Voices approaching pulled us apart and I dropped to the ground, Roman’s hands keeping me from falling over. My heart was hammering, my thoughts a crazy swirl of red-hot emotion. I’d just made out with a Regulator. Someone had hit the crazy switch and I had a feeling it was me. The voices receded and I stepped from Roman, pulling away from his hands.

  “I can’t do this,” I managed to gasp out. I stumbled for the open door, wishing I’d bought my cane. The brace could only support me for so long. I glanced back at Roman; terrified he would stop me, or call for back-up. But the Regulator had moved back, half-hidden in shadow. My ears thought I caught a snatch of something said, but I didn’t turn, just hurried out into the night, my blood thumping wildly.

  Chapter 40

  The animal blood I’d spilt on myself had dried and stiffened. I felt oily, unkempt and in dire need of some sleep. I entered my house, almost expecting Orella to be sitting in the kitchen, waiting for me as she chewed on her tobacco pipe. But then I remembered she was hurt and Morgan was dead, and then I wanted to curl into a ball and weep. Morgan had been a gruff, forbidding woman, but she had always been such a reassuring presence and I missed her terribly. I limped to the kitchen, and grabbed my bottle of gin from the pantry. I stared at the pantry a little longer, willing food to materialise.