Chaos Broken

by Rebekah Turner

  ‘You didn’t send the letter.’ Crowhurst’s eyebrows drew together and a storm built in his face. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because I didn’t.’ I smashed a fist against the table, causing my cider to tip over. I grabbed it before it could roll and crash to the floor. ‘Gideon is too old to be trying to stick his hooves in this business and Orella’s too sick.’

  ‘Gideon has influence you don’t.’ Crowhurst’s voice rose. ‘And Orella’s just got arthritis.’

  Arthritis didn’t give you a cough that wracked your body with spasms. I suspected Orella’s health was in much more dire shape than she or Gideon led anyone to believe, but I’d never said anything. I couldn’t. Because then it might be real. So they went on their little holiday and there was no way I was calling them back to face Laeonder’s pyre.

  I stood. ‘In case you missed the newsflash, Gideon left me in charge. Not you. So I’m the one paying your bills, so you can afford to take Cloete out and shag her all over town.’

  Crowhurst’s face hardened. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, this place would have been belly-up five times over if it hadn’t been for me.’

  ‘How’s that? Eh? Bringing me jobs like missing-fucking-cats?’ My voice had risen to a scream now. Violence crashed through me and I wanted nothing more than to launch across the room and start laying into Crowhurst.

  But he didn’t take the bait. Instead, he turned on his heel and left the room. Seconds later, the front door slammed. I sat back down. With no one to argue with, my anger dissolved into something worse: a crying fit. I didn’t fight it, just buried my head in my hands and wept. I cried for Poulter. Then I cried for what had happened to Sabine. For what had happened to Gorath and the broken man he’d become. Then I cried some more because my I missed Gideon and Orella so much my heart hurt.

  Chapter 30

  The crying fit didn’t last long. Grubber and a group of Runners turned up soon after with food and beer. Head bowed, I’d hastily made my departure and somehow managed to get home without embarrassing myself further.

  At home, I drank some coffee and ate stale biscuits, then braided my hair back and changed into black clothes. Black for mourning. Black for death. Things were getting a little too fucked up in this city I loved so much and I wasn’t sure what to do about it. I knew I needed to apologise to Crowhurst, but for now I was going to do the one thing I knew I was capable of: tracking Kalin down. What I’d do once I’d found him, I wasn’t sure. After all, my attempts to take him down in the alley hadn’t gone so well. My hands tightened around my cane as I left my house. Dismemberment seemed to be a good option.

  A fog had rolled in off the Harken River, wafting down the crooked streets, and the wintery air was frigid. I mapped out in my head where I would look for Kalin first. Grubber had said the kid had been seen around the sewers, but I wasn’t that keen to start there. He and his gang of delinquents had also made their recent mass slaughter near the harbour, but I wasn’t going to bother looking for clues there. The place would be crawling with Regulators and Grigori.

  Trawling the streets, I tapped my regular contacts, passing out coin and asking after the kid. People had seen him, but no one could tell me where he was hiding.

  Around mid-afternoon, I realised I was really going to have to go into the sewers to search for the little bastard because I was officially out of ideas and leads.

  Access to the sewers wasn’t easy: you had to find an entry, and even then most of them had solid iron gates with big locks. Fortunately, I found one with a lock that hadn’t rusted over and managed to pick it open. The tunnels were dark and I cast a quick spell, bringing to life a small ball of blue light that floated ahead of me, illuminating a path.

  The smell in the sewer was as bad as I thought it would be, which meant it was horrific. Worse than garbage. Worse than baby sick. Gagging, I pressed the crook of my arm against my nose as I walked through the tunnels, hunched over so my head didn’t scrape the slime-coated ceiling. Eventually, the tunnel widened and I found I could straighten. Other than a couple of startled rats, I really wasn’t seeing much in the way of clues. This didn’t surprise me, considering my Runners and Caleb’s men had already searched these tunnels. I guess I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to find. Something heavy shuffled in the shadows as I passed, and I paused, hand tightening around my cane.

  ‘Who’s there?’ I called. ‘Show yourself.’

  With a gesture, I sent the ball drifting over a bundle of rags. The rotting material shrank away from the light.

  ‘I won’t harm you,’ I said. ‘I’m just looking for someone.’

  The rags shifted and a figure emerged. Filthy clothes hung from her body and moss-coloured eyes sat over a snub nose. Rank seaweed-like hair sat plastered to her head and long breasts hung low enough that I unconsciously hitched my bra straps. She belched and picked a snail out of her ear. ‘What you want?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m looking for a kid,’ I said. ‘He’s got yellow eyes and smells of crazy. Talks a lot about someone rising.’

  She popped the snail in her mouth and chewed. ‘You and everyone else. It’s like I told them fellas before. Haven’t seen nobody.’

  ‘I know you’re lying,’ I said. ‘I think you know everything that happens down here.’

  She retreated back into the shadows, hunching in on herself. ‘Just leave me alone. I’m nothing but a lowly swamp nymph.’

  ‘I could pay for the information.’

  ‘Don’t care about coin down here.’

  ‘What do you care about?’

  One eye squinted at me. ‘What did this boy do?’

  ‘Hurt people.’ I leaned forward on my cane. ‘And he’s going to hurt plenty more, unless I stop him.’

  ‘You?’ She gave a cackle. ‘I watched your Runners fumbling around down here, making a racket.’

  ‘You know who I am?’

  The nymph unfolded herself again, a sly look in her eyes. ‘Of course I know who you are.’ She crouched down, unrolling a bag to lie out flat. Slender bottles of dirty liquid were tucked into pouches, along with charms and necklaces made from tiny teeth.

  ‘What do you think?’ She ran knotted fingers across the items, pride gleaming in her eyes.

  ‘Interesting collection,’ I said. ‘Is that what you do down here? Collect things?’

  ‘Maybe.’ A slug crawled out of her nose and she flicked it away. ‘Maybe you have something I would like to have, very much.’

  ‘Like what?’ I asked, suddenly cautious.

  She grinned. ‘A single drop of your blood.’

  I retreated a step, surprised. ‘No.’

  ‘A single drop of the only female nephilim in existence,’ she repeated. ‘I am owed that.’

  ‘Owed?’ I repeated. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You would not remember me, but I remember you, when Orella Warbreeder brought you to me. You howled until she let you suck on her finger.’ The nymph tapped her nose. ‘Orella knew the dangers you would face as the only female nephilim, so she asked for something to hide you with.’ Her top lip curled back. ‘A pretty charm for the pretty baby to wear. To hide her pitch-black hair and eyes. To hide her, to hide her, from prying eyes.’

  Squinting, I tried to read the nymph’s aura, but found I couldn’t, and my eyes watered with the effort. The nymph laughed and twirled her fingers around her head.

  ‘Don’t try your tricks with me, little girl. You’ll not be able to read my aura.’ She leaned forward with an eager look. ‘One drop is all I ask for. You owe me. It was my spell that hid you all those years from the hand of the Order of Guides and the Craft Aldermen.’

  ‘I suppose you want me to thank you?’ Anger flushed through me, thinking of all the taunts and beatings I received as a child from those who thought I was a Witch Hunter.

  ‘That’s right,’ the nymph said. ‘Though I did not know the charm would turn your hair white. That was your nature, altering the spell. That was your doing. Not mine.’

 
‘I never asked for my identity to be hidden.’ My voice rose. ‘What I was shouldn’t have been concealed from me.’

  The nymph leered. ‘You think your life was difficult, being mistaken for a Witch Hunter? Just think of how people would have treated you if everyone had known you were nephilim. I dare say, things would have been very different.’

  The anger drained out of me and suddenly I wanted nothing more than to get out of these sewers. Away from this memory of the past. Of things I couldn’t change.

  The nymph held out a silver needle and a cloth. ‘One drop. Not for spells. For my collection. A memory of my life. Then I will tell you where the child has been hiding.’

  My shoulders slumped, knowing I had little choice. I took the needle, telling myself that one drop was nothing. Her claims about me owing her rang deep and true. She was right. If people had known I was nephilim, my life would have been a nightmare.

  Feeling the weight of this debt, I pricked a finger and bled a single drop onto the cloth, then handed it back to her. The nymph snatched it, chuckling.

  ‘What a collection. Yes, yes. The best anyone has ever seen.’

  ‘I’ve upheld my end of the bargain,’ I said, now impatient. ‘Now tell me where he is.’

  The nymph paused from rolling up her bag to point down the tunnel. ‘Keep going. Turn left. Everyone else missed it, because the entrance has been hidden by an enchantment.’ She hoisted the bag over her small, rounded shoulder. ‘Enchantment’s gone, because the caster is gone as well.’

  ‘The caster was a kid with yellow eyes?’ I asked. ‘With an old sword?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Do you know what he’s trying to do?’

  The nymph shrank back into the shadows. ‘Terrible magic that rots from within. He will be dead soon enough.’

  ‘That’s good news,’ I mused.

  ‘And he will take many more lives before he’s done.’

  I sighed. ‘That’s not good news.’

  She settled back into her pile of rags and I hesitated, realising that this nymph might have the answers to the burning questions I had about who I was. Why had I been born? Had it really just been on the whim of a vain, power-hungry angel? What did being a female nephilim mean?

  ‘I can hear your questions from here.’ The nymph’s voice was muffled. ‘And I’ll not be answering them. If you want answers, you ask Orella them. Just leave me be now.’

  Knowing I didn’t have the heart to force the answers out of her, I turned and headed down the tunnel, my ball of light following me. When I came to a junction, I turned left and after a few more sharp turns, stumbled to a halt. A wide area was littered with bodies, chests covered in blood.

  Approaching with caution, I counted six bodies in total, each one positioned inside one of Kalin’s odd number circles, scribed meticulously in chalk. Walking around, I looked for anything that would tip me off as to what Kalin was up to. Anti-Grigori slogans were painted on the walls, along with a few choice words about the City Watch and their respective mothers. Scribbled overtop of this were slogans in bright paint, all about the coming resurrection.

  I saw a cup and bowl at my feet, and realised I’d stopped at a centre point of the circles. Leaning on my cane, I crouched down to pick up the cup. A sickly sweet smell met my nose, a smell I could place anywhere. Apertor Elixir. I ran a finger inside the bowl, then touched the tip of my tongue. Tasting salt, I frowned, not recognising what kind of spell required this kind of sacrifice and materials. Whatever Kalin was up to, if he wasn’t captured soon, he might be too powerful to stop. The memory of him pulling my dagger from his chest flashed bright in my mind and I wondered if we had already reached that point.

  It took me a little longer to backtrack. By the time I got out into the streets again, rain was falling. I pulled my hood up with a sense of relief. I was pretty sure I didn’t smell so good after traversing through the sewers, and hoped the rain would wash the worst of it off.

  I trudged towards home, boots sloshing through puddles and mud, and tried not to dwell on how the rain might have saved Andela’s life if it had come earlier.

  Chapter 31

  After sending an anonymous message to alert the local City Watch about the bodies, I took a long, scented bath. My skin was well and truly wrinkled by the time I stepped out and towelled myself dry. I’d washed my hair as well and sprayed the wet strands with scented oils. Wrapping myself in a warm cotton dressing gown, I padded into my bedroom. The house was quiet, save for the rain outside, which now fell in a steady patter.

  I debated lighting the fire downstairs to try and warm the house, but decided the comfort of my bed would be the next best thing. I was just pulling back the covers when there was a sharp rap at my front door. A visit at this time of night was not usually a good thing and I hurried down the stairs, grabbing my cane beside the doorframe. Double-checking the protective runes carved around the lintel, I unlocked the door. In my head, it had been a toss-up between Kalin appearing with his rusty sword to finish me off, or Crowhurst wanting to shout some more.

  ‘Lora.’ Roman’s face peered at me from under a hood heavy with rain. A man slumped next to him, Roman’s arms holding him up. ‘Casper’s hurt.’

  ‘I invite you in.’ I quickly disarmed the runes. Ushering them both into the living room, I switched on a lamp. The room flooded with a soft yellow light as Roman eased Casper down on the couch. I instructed Roman to light the fireplace and I knelt in front of Casper and pushed the hood off his face. I could see he was in pain.

  ‘It isn’t that bad,’ he gasped, one bloodstained hand pressed against his side.

  ‘Sorry about coming here,’ Roman said over his shoulder. ‘But we didn’t think we’d make it get back to the theatre without getting caught.’

  ‘We were fucking ambushed,’ Casper said through clenched teeth.

  Prying Casper’s hand away, I eased aside his clothing and saw a bolt in his side, the end snapped off.

  I hurried into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil, then grabbed my work-belt from the bench, a bottle of gin and some warm blankets. Soon enough I was kneeling in front of Casper again, peering at the bolt. With Roman’s help, he’d removed his shirt and was laid out on the couch, feet propped up on one end.

  I passed him the bottle of gin. ‘Who did this?’

  ‘Thesma Regulators.’ Roman sounded disgusted. ‘We were supposed to be meeting some nephilim from the Order, but we were ambushed.’

  As I checked around Casper’s wound, I tried to squish the worm of worry at this development. If the Thesma Regulators were closing in on Roman, then there’d be no time for any peace deal with the Grigori of Harken, not that I was sure such a thing was even possible. I didn’t even want to think about this new supposed ‘law’ the Council had reinstated. Whatever power the Council had granted Laeonder, I had to guess it was done somewhat against their will. Surely the Council didn’t want to see Harken’s citizens burn.

  ‘I’m going to pull the bolt out,’ I told Casper.

  ‘Need help?’ Roman asked.

  ‘I’m good,’ I told him, then turned back to Casper. ‘On the count of three.’

  ‘Right.’ Casper tensed.

  ‘One,’ I said, then yanked. I slapped my free hand over his mouth to muffle his yelp of pain, then took it away and passed him the gin bottle.

  ‘Probably you should have had more of that before I pulled,’ I told him.

  ‘Probably.’ Casper’s voice was thin. He took a long drink. ‘But thanks anyway.’

  ‘Were there others with you?’ I asked. There was a tiny amount of Bishop’s Balm in my work-belt and, after cleaning Casper’s wound, I set about smearing the pearl-coloured ointment around the edge of the torn flesh. Within seconds, Casper’s shoulders relaxed a little and his breathing became more regular.

  Roman said something, but he had his back to me, staring into the fire, and I didn’t catch it.

  ‘What?’ I turned to look at him.

&nb
sp; ‘He said, they killed everyone,’ Casper told me between sips of gin. ‘Three good nephilim brothers who were with us.’

  ‘Everyone?’

  ‘It was a slaughter.’ Roman turned from the fire. ‘They were waiting for us.’

  ‘I told you we can’t trust anyone,’ Casper said.

  ‘Where did this happen?’ I asked.

  Roman saw my stricken look and shook his head. ‘We weren’t anywhere near the theatre. It hasn’t been compromised.’

  ‘Of course, that doesn’t mean they don’t know anything about it,’ Casper muttered.

  ‘We need to warn Nicola,’ I said.

  ‘She knows,’ Roman said. ‘I already sent a message.’

  ‘What about Gorath?’ I pinched the bridge of my nose, thinking hard. ‘He’s on the High Grigori’s shit list as well.’

  ‘I spoke to Manika earlier today,’ Casper said. ‘She said they were leaving tonight, to return to the Outlands. Apparently, something had upset Gorath.’

  ‘At least that’s something.’ I got to my feet, a sneaky suspicion telling me my confrontation with Gorath over his treatment of Sariel was at the root of it.

  Roman’s face turned, considering. ‘Do you trust Gorath now?’ he asked.

  I hesitated before answering. What I’d seen in my dreamscape, in that horrible little house, had been very personal. I knew Gorath would want me to keep my silence about it, even though it made me worry for his state of mind. Whether he was my half-brother or not, I probably could do with all the family and friends I could get.

  ‘I trust him not to betray us on this,’ I said cautiously. From what I’d seen, Gorath walked a fine line between sanity and madness. I didn’t want to push him closer to it by voicing my worries to Roman. Their truce felt tenuous enough.

  ‘Gorath didn’t give us up.’ Casper’s deep voice was slow.

  ‘I don’t think he did either,’ Roman said. ‘Gorath believes in what we’re trying to achieve here, though he might not agree with my methods.’