Grim Fate (Codex Blair Book 5)

by Izzy Shows

  “Because,” I said, sighing. “Because of what you told me. You’re not allowed to lift your sword for a cause that isn’t just. You can’t go running off into battles that you aren’t called to. You can’t fight for me.”

  Tears brimmed her eyes. “I’m not going to let you die.” Her voice was hoarse.

  I reached out and placed a hand on her knee, smiling tightly. “It’s OK, Emily.”

  “No, it isn’t.” She sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders. “We’re going to figure out a plan that you can follow, and we’ll get it taken care of. So I can’t go slicing through the Order’s army. Big deal. We’ll fight them with words.”

  I grinned. There was my girl, ever the warrior, no matter what stood in her way. “Funny you should mention that, because I’m going to have a hearing. And I’m already guilty in their eyes, so I’m going to need a damned good defence.”

  “Who’s going to be your lawyer?” She frowned.

  “Oh, I don’t think I get to have one of those.”

  “Well, that can’t be legal. You have to be given representation.”

  “Err, no, I don’t think it works that way. I’m not being arrested by the police, Emily. This is part of the magical world, and they have their own rules. Maybe they do give us lawyers, but you can be sure if they do, it will be one of their own, prejudiced against me from the get-go.” I paused, thinking about that. “If only I could call my own lawyer. I’d pick a Fae any day.”

  She laughed, then realised that I was serious. “Why would you call a Fae?”

  “Because they’re perfect at twisting your words around and around until you have no idea what you said in the first place. They’d make perfect lawyers. Gods, I wish I could have a lawyer,” I said bitterly. “But the note didn’t say anything about it, and Raven said I can’t bring anyone with me, so I don’t think that’ll be on the cards.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Tell as much of the truth as I can?” I shrugged. “That’s all I can do, really. Beg for my life, anyway.”

  “Well, let’s go over it,” she said, leaning forward. “Tell me everything that happened at Tyburn Tree. I want to make sure you’ve got it down.”

  I sighed and ran my good hand through my hair. “I guess you’ve got a point. It feels so long ago. Where do I even start?”

  “At the beginning, of course,” she said.

  I snorted. “The beginning? That would be me getting drafted by a ghost to find her husband, who, she ironically told me, was cheating on her with a ghost.”

  Her eyes widened, and her mouth popped open, but she quickly covered it with one hand. “You’re kidding! You never told me that.”

  I huffed out a breath. “Well, it’s true. At the time, I didn’t know she was a ghost. I thought she was just your average, ordinary wife whose husband had left her. She called me, said she’d got my number from a friend I’d done work for—and she knew the name of someone I had done work for—and she needed my help. I met her at a coffee shop, took the job from her, and got down to business. I met Aidan when I was trying to scrounge up information. The tool came into a warehouse doing his whole Moses shtick… Are you sure they’re going to want to know all this stuff? I mean, it’s a boringly long story.”

  She frowned. “But what if you miss some of the details?”

  “Like what?” I was suddenly uncomfortable, thinking about the one detail I was going to intentionally leave out—that I’d made a deal with a demon to get the power I needed to take down Deacon. I didn’t know how I was going to explain everything without that part of the story, but I was going to have to figure it out. Maybe lying to Emily would be good practice, but I didn’t want to lie to her.

  I guessed I did keep secrets from her, after all.

  “I don’t know, but that’s how everyone always gets caught. They slip up on a detail, and people jump all over it.”

  “I think they’re only going to focus on the actual events of Tyburn Tree, though. And I didn’t do anything wrong there—aside from using magic, which is apparently a crime when you aren’t licensed by the Order.”

  Emily nodded, looking thoughtful. “Well, if it’s a crime, then you’re guilty, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah, I am,” I said, shrugging again. “And there isn’t anything I can do to change that. I used magic at Tyburn Tree, although it was self-defence. If I hadn’t, then a mob of undead would have torn through the both of us, and we wouldn’t be here to have this conversation.”

  “Well, there’s one thing you don’t have to worry about,” she said, brightening up a bit, though there was still a shadow in her eyes.

  “What’s that?”

  “You’re not on trial for murder. I killed Deacon, not you.”

  Quiet settled between us as the truth of those words sank in.

  Eight

  We went over the events of Tyburn Tree five times before Emily was satisfied that I had them down pat, that I wasn’t going to leave anything out. I had talked her into not going over the whole story, though, so we just went over the actual fight.

  I was about to offer her breakfast when my phone rang, causing me to jump.

  Settle, Blair. The Order isn’t going to call you before they come and get you, I told myself, knowing in my heart that it was true, though I couldn’t shake the feeling that every sound I hadn’t expected was the moment they’d come to take me. They weren’t due until sunset, but all the same, I didn’t trust that they’d leave well enough alone.

  Maybe they would come for me early.

  My phone was still ringing, so I picked it up, taking a second to check the caller ID. Shawn. I groaned, answering the phone.

  “Hey, Shawn,” I said.

  “Hey, how are you doing? I thought we could grab some lunch.”

  I grimaced. “Now really isn’t a great time.”

  I’m going to be taken away, and maybe I should say good-bye to you too, but it’s just too awkward. I don’t even know how to define what we are. You’re a good friend, but you don’t belong in this world. It’s better this way.

  Somehow, I didn’t think saying that would go over well, so I didn’t say it.

  “Oh,” he said, sounding disappointed. “What are you up to? Anything I can help with?”

  “Uh, no, nothing. Boring. Paperwork type stuff. I’ll call you later, OK?”

  “Sure…”

  I hung up, cringing, before he could say anything else. When I looked up, I saw that Emily was watching me with her head quirked to the side.

  “What was that?”

  “What was what?” I said, feeling a little defensive.

  “You totally blew off Shawn when you probably should have told him what’s going on. Let him come over and see you. He makes you feel better. He could probably help to keep you calm.”

  “You make me feel better, and you’re here…” My voice trailed off. I didn’t have a good excuse.

  “Come on, Blair. What’s really going on here?”

  I sighed. Damn Emily. She was too good at seeing when something was up. “OK, OK. I just…I feel like there’s too much that’s different between the two of us. He wouldn’t understand about the Order. It’s not a part of his life.”

  “It seemed to me that he was doing a pretty good job of understanding everything you’ve put in front of him.”

  I glared at her. “He accepted things, sure, but he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand why I fight. He just… He’s never going to get it, not like you do, or Raven, or—” I stopped abruptly, before I could say, ‘or Mal.’ He had understood the fight all too well, knowing how it had called to me and how much I’d enjoyed it. That was something I wasn’t sure was good about me, but it was a fact. I liked to fight, and it had been… well, nice, to have someone understand and accept that about me.

  Shawn was always trying to get me to stop fighting. He didn’t think it was worth putting my life on the line, even when it meant helping other people. He wanted me to be self
ish when I just couldn’t. I closed my eyes, pressing my hand against my forehead.

  “It just isn’t working,” I said.

  “Then you should tell him that,” she said, her words gentle but firm.

  I huffed out a sigh. “Can’t I just get through this whole ‘I may be about to die’ thing before I deal with drama I may not even have to deal with? I could always just die,” I said, a false smile appearing on my lips.

  Emily didn’t look amused.

  “OK, OK, bad joke. But you know what I mean. I have more important things on my plate right now.”

  We were both quiet for a few minutes, me picking at my jeans and her just sitting quietly. She looked so elegant, so out of place in my raggedy living room.

  All at once it hit me again that I might be dying tonight. Like a sack of bricks to my gut, it came out of nowhere. I had been fine a moment before, joking around with Emily, and now I was on the brink of hyperventilating.

  “Blair!” Emily reached out, gripped my good shoulder, and shook me a little bit.

  “I don’t want to die,” I said, my voice breaking.

  “You’re not going to die,” she said firmly. For a second, I almost believed her.

  Gods, I didn’t deserve her. Even now, I was keeping secrets from her. She was a warrior of the Lord, a paladin, and I had a demon’s mark on my wrist.

  I didn’t want to die lying to her. This might be the last time I ever saw her, and I couldn’t keep lying to her.

  “Emily, I have to tell you something.”

  She frowned. “Blair, you can tell me anything. You know that.”

  I sucked in a deep breath. I hoped that was true, and I hoped this wasn’t going to be the moment she turned her back on me. I would understand if it was—a paladin couldn’t exactly be seen hanging around someone like me. Someone tainted and twisted. Tears brimmed the corners of my eyes, and I blinked rapidly, trying to get them to go away, but one snuck out and trailed down my cheek.

  “I made a deal with Malphas,” I said, my voice so quiet I was sure she wouldn’t hear me. I dared to look at her and saw a patient smile on her face. I frowned, but I was now certain that she hadn’t heard me. “Back before Tyburn Tree, to get the power I needed, I made a deal with Mal. He gave me this mark.” I showed her my wrist, where the backwards three was burned into my skin, an angry red welt.

  “I know,” she said.

  I gaped at her. “What?”

  “I’ve known, Blair. I was waiting for you to tell me, and I was starting to think you never would. I understand your fear, but this doesn’t change anything.”

  “How? How can it not change anything?”

  “Because the Lord doesn’t expect us to be perfect. His creations are flawed. We are given to temptation, and He forgives us for that. I would not be a good Daughter if I could not follow in His example of forgiveness, especially as I am not perfect, either. It is an easy thing to forgive you, something I have already done. But you need to find a way to rid yourself of that. I worry what it does to you.”

  My cheeks flamed crimson, and I couldn’t meet her eyes. It hurt, how good she was. I didn’t deserve her, didn’t deserve her friendship or her kindness. She should be angry with me, yelling at me and telling me what a fuck-up I was. Because that’s what I was, all I had ever been.

  “I don’t understand,” I said at last. “You shouldn’t be seen with me.”

  “Blair, you’re too hard on yourself. What you did, you did for the good of others, not for yourself. The morality of it is grey and hard to judge, but it is not my place to do so. That is for Him and Him alone.”

  “Maybe He’s punishing me,” I said, though I didn’t mean it.

  Her frown was sharp, and I knew I shouldn’t have said that. “That is not His way,” she said.

  Of course not. I had to remember that, to a fault, Emily would defend her Lord. She would never think He would punish someone for making a mistake; to her, He was perfect. I understood that, somewhat, but there was a bit of a track record, written down in a book, about Him punishing people.

  There had been a flood, after all. If you believed in that sort of thing.

  “You really aren’t going to leave me?” My voice cracked, again, damn it, and I still couldn’t bring myself to look at her.

  The couch shifted beneath me as Emily moved, scooting closer to me, and she wrapped her arms around me. “I will never leave you, Blair. You mean too much to me.”

  I couldn’t help it. I cried.

  Nine

  We spent the rest of the day together, and Emily left some time after dinner. I felt well and truly blessed that she had spent the time with me that she had, and I was sad to see it end. But it had to end, just as all things do.

  Like my life.

  I was sitting on the floor of the living room, legs crossed and one hand on a knee while the other arm was still in its sling. Meditating. It was all I could do right now: try to empty my mind and focus on something else. Or rather, on nothing. That was the goal, anyway.

  Or at least, that’s what I thought meditation was supposed to be. I wasn’t particularly good at it; my mind was always running all over the place, and I couldn’t concentrate on my breathing for more than a few minutes at most.

  Usually less than a minute. I’m scatter-brained. Always have been, and probably always will be.

  I let my breath out in a whoosh instead of the levelled exhale it was supposed to be, deflating a bit and opening my eyes to glare at my front door. I was facing it, waiting for the heavy pounding to come and tell me my life was over.

  Maybe that was why I couldn’t focus on the meditation. I knew that any minute now, that knock would come at my door, and everything would be over. There would be no going back once that happened. My stomach was full of butterflies, or maybe bees, with the way it was buzzing around. I couldn’t get myself to settle down, knowing what was coming.

  I closed my eyes and drew in a breath, held it for a count of five and then let it out on another count of five.

  One, two, three, four, five. Oh, by the way, you’re going to die.

  Fuck.

  My eyes popped open again. I tilted my head back and groaned. What I wouldn’t give to have both my arms back in working order. I didn’t care so much about the rib; I could still walk around with it, even though it hurt like hell. But with both arms, maybe I could have done some light boxing downstairs. That was always more meditative for me than actual meditation. I could focus on my fists beating the bag, picturing it as something else sometimes, and lose myself in the motions. Hours could go by, and I would be drenched in sweat by the time I finally came to from being so tired.

  That was me at my most relaxed, and it certainly would have helped in this instance. But I couldn’t do that because of my damned arm.

  Just breathe. It’s all going to be over soon, anyway, so why not enjoy breathing while you can still do it?

  Because who gave a fuck about that anyway? I’d rather enjoy running while I had the freedom for it, but I couldn’t do that either. I had to be ready.

  The beating came at the door.

  I disentangled my legs and stood slowly, staring at the door as if that would make the beating go silent.

  “Blair Sheach, by order of the First Hand, I command you to open this door and submit yourself to the First Order’s justice!” A booming voice penetrated the silence of my house.

  I inhaled sharply, lifting my chin. My defiant streak ran deep and demanded that I do the exact opposite of what I was being told. I had to work hard to tamp it down, though I allowed myself a solid minute before I walked the scant distance between myself and the door.

  I muttered the counter-spell as I brushed my hand along the wooden door, opening it with as much calm as I could muster.

  “You’re on time,” I said with a small smile.

  Surprise flickered across the face of the great brute standing across from me. I was shocked by his massive height, certain his girth wouldn’t
fit through my door without breaking the frame. He was swarthy, had hard brown eyes, and a sneer twisted his lips after the surprise had disappeared.

  “I hereby place you under arrest for the crime of using magic without due licensure,” he said, reaching forward and gripping me by my one good forearm. He yanked me out of my house, across the threshold. It took every ounce of my will not to fight him.

  Failure to comply will be taken as an admission of guilt and is punishable by death.

  The words rang clearly in my head, and I knew I had to play along for as long as I could. Submission was not something I had ever been good at, but I called on my many years of experience dealing with abusive foster fathers to keep myself in line, to keep myself docile while I dealt with this man.

  He lifted my free arm so my hand was even with my broken arm and slapped a pair of cuffs on me. I felt heat emitting through them from above my sleeves and had to fight back the snarl that jumped to my lips.

  That had bloody hurt.

  “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got a broken arm here. You could try to be a little more considerate,” I said, unable to keep myself from snapping at him.

  “I don’t care,” he said, looking at me with disinterested eyes. “Those will keep your magic contained for the moment. I’m not about to let you walk around free to use your magic.”

  A smirk curved along my lips. I couldn’t resist. “What, are you scared?”

  He leaned close to me, filling my vision with his face. “They’re for your protection, warlock. If you use your magic, we get to cut you down. That has happened one too many times, and now the Order wants to make sure you can get to your hearing before you’re killed.”

  My nostrils flared when he called me ‘warlock’—a mage or Wizard gone bad. I hadn’t done anything to deserve that title. I had defended the citizens of London after the Order failed to replace Aidan as protector of the city. How was any of this my fault?

  And then, without further ado, he spun me around and tied a blindfold around my head. I hissed, giving in to myself and struggling against him. He boxed my ear, sending me stumbling toward to my house, but he dragged me back to him. His hands abandoned me a moment later, leaving me disoriented until I heard my door closing.