Burn Mark (15 page)

‘Silas Paterson among them.’

Colonel Silas Paterson was Saunders’s deputy. Lucas saw that his father’s voice, neutral in tone, had a greenish-brown taint of dislike.

‘Silas will have to accept that times are changing. WICA has proved the doom-mongers wrong so far. With Jack Rawdon at the helm, further expansion of the agency seems inevitable. In fact, it was Rawdon himself who proposed the mole’s cover. He suggested that it should be that of somebody young, inexperienced and previously unconnected to the coven world. A schoolboy, in fact.’

‘How is this possible? A glamour can transform a person’s looks. But isn’t using it to alter age highly unreliable?’

‘It is. In such cases, the witchwork never holds for long. We would never have attempted the operation if Rawdon hadn’t had a specific candidate in mind. Agent Andrew Barnes turned witchkind very young, at the age of eighteen, and was recruited by WICA soon afterwards. Now aged twenty, he is of small stature and slight build, and naturally appears younger than his years. As an added precaution, his features have been disguised by a glamour.’

The Commander sounded perfectly composed. But Lucas was watching the flickering yellow behind his speech. Josiah Saunders was a nervous man.

‘So Agent Barnes created the role of “Harry Jukes”, a young delinquent from a privileged background. His initial contact with Cooper Street was to purchase drugs; not for personal use, but for dealing to his friends. Since then, he’s supplied the coven with information about his neighbours’ security arrangements, resulting in several household break-ins, and has assisted in a fake charity fund-raiser . . . Naturally, all those affected will be suitably compensated.’

‘Naturally.’ Ashton’s voice was silver with suspicion. ‘And how will your teenage tearaway graduate from school to coven?’

‘He’ll get the fae, of course.’ Lucas sensed a gingery tinge of amusement. ‘Next week, phase two of Operation Echo will begin. ‘Harry’ will arrive at Cooper Street with the news he’s turned witchkind. The story is that he’s already been expelled from school, and has left home before his fae can be discovered.

‘Morale is low at Cooper Street, and so is security. An unregistered witch of Harry’s age and background would appear easy to exploit. Why wouldn’t they want to take him in, and use him for their own ends? Even among criminals, a boy of sixteen or so is not subject to the same scrutiny as a mature adult. And of course this is only the first stage of the operation. Our coven asset assures us that if our young witch puts his fae to good effect, Charlie Morgan will hear of it and move to recruit him for his own outfit. He’s used to taking his pick of underworld talent, and he won’t want Cooper Street getting ideas above its station.’

‘Sounds plausible. In fact, I don’t quite see what the problem –’

‘Agent Barnes was involved in the railway accident at Ealing on Monday. He’ll be in hospital for the next six weeks at least.’

Ashton let out his breath sharply. ‘Could witchwork be involved? After that whistle-wind . . .’

‘At present it seems a mechanical fault was to blame. In any case, it was completely by chance our agent was on the train at the time.

‘We have reviewed Agent Barnes’s fellow officers in the hope of witchworking one of them to take his place, and none are suitable. Our respective organisations have spent over a year working on this operation. It has taken months of preparation.’ There was a pause. ‘Agent Barnes’s facilities are as remarkable as his youth. Exceptional, in fact. To come across another such person would be such an extraordinary stroke of luck, one might almost call it . . . fate.’

In the following silence, Lucas could feel his heart thudding, fast and loud. It seemed impossible they couldn’t hear it in the other room. But the stillness was absolute.

When Ashton did speak, his voice and its colour were ice-white.

‘Be very careful what you say next, Josiah.’

‘I think you already know what I’m asking.’

‘And I think you should stop now before either of us says something we’ll regret.’

‘Ashton, if you would just consider –’

‘
He is fifteen years old
.’

‘Lucas isn’t a child. He’s a young adult. A Type D witch, whose status has been kept secret and records classified. He is uniquely positioned –’

‘I’m sorry, Josiah. This conversation is now at an end.’ Then, in a final explosion of feeling, that showed itself as red and black bursts in Lucas’s head, ‘And don’t think I’d react differently if this wasn’t about my son. Christ! There have to be some lines we don’t cross. Otherwise what the hell do we stand for?’

‘All right,’ Commander Saunders said gently. ‘All right. I understand. I’m sorry to have put you in this position. We’ll talk no more of it.’

‘Let me show you out.’

In the room next door, Lucas put down the glass with a shaking hand. As he got to his feet, his vision went black, and he thought he was going to pass out.

But this was no time for weakness. He straightened up, wiped his clammy face on his sleeve and smoothed down his hair. It was important to appear controlled. He went into the hallway just as his father and his guest were reaching the door.

‘Commander Saunders,’ he said. ‘I’m Lucas.’

Both men stiffened. The Commander’s gaunt face, however, gave nothing away. ‘Of course. It’s good to see you again.’

‘I was listening at the door while you were in the study.’ Lucas went on quickly, before he could be interrupted or lose his nerve. ‘I know it was wrong. But a lot of decisions are being made for me by other people, and I want to be involved.’

‘Stay out of this, Lucas.’

Lucas had never seen his father afraid and in his own fearfulness, he only saw Ashton’s anger: hard and cold. He pressed on.

‘I can’t. I’m sorry. For the first time since all this –’ he raised his bridled wrists ‘– stuff has happened, something makes sense. I’m needed for what, as well as who, I am.’ He turned to the Commander again. ‘My father and I have to talk. But this isn’t over, and I’ll hope to meet with you again.’

The Commander smiled tightly. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

Back in the study, Ashton leaned against the door. His knuckles drummed the wood. Lucas was ready for an outburst, but all he said was, ‘You can’t have heard anything through this.’

‘No. I used witchwork.’ It felt good to confess it.

‘And how did you get past the bridling?’

‘I cheated in the assessment. But that isn’t the issue here. We need –’

‘Don’t you dare tell me what the issue is.’ His father was still talking quietly, but the words cracked like a whip. ‘
You broke the law.
The officer who conducted your assessment did so as a personal favour to me. He could face disciplinary action over this. Meanwhile, I’m going to have to have the house inspected for hostile witchwork committed by
my
own son
. You have been criminally irresponsible in every way.’

Somehow, Lucas held his father’s gaze. ‘I’m sorry. Especially if I’ve got your colleague into trouble. But I had to find out what was going on. You don’t talk to me. Nobody does. You all –’ He heard the whine beginning in his voice, swallowed hard, and suppressed it. ‘Anyway. That doesn’t matter now, because I know what I’m going to do with my life. I want to join WICA.’

Josiah Saunders had done what Jonah Branning could not. He’d shown Lucas his true calling. He couldn’t be an inquisitor, but he could still hunt down and punish witchcrime. He could atone for his fae.

‘A worthy ambition. I’ll look forward to discussing it once you turn eighteen.’

‘But it’s
now
that counts. If you don’t find out who the Wednesday Coven’s been bribing, all your work on the Goodwin trial will be for nothing. It’s the most important prosecution of your career. It will be your last prosecution too once my condition is made public. We both know that. And I actually have the chance to help. If you won’t let me do this for you, then let me do it for the cause itself.’

‘For God’s sake, Lucas! This isn’t the time to play the hero. The only “cause” you should be furthering is your education.’ With visible effort, Ashton softened his tone. ‘I can understand why you might not want to return to Clearmont. Perhaps you’d like to spend some time studying abroad. Marisa has been looking into it. There is an institution in –’

Lucas laughed. ‘A secret boarding school for teen witches? No thanks.’ He tried a different tack. ‘Look. I’m only asking for a chance to weigh up my options. If it turns out I’m not right for Commander Saunders’s operation, or if I decide I don’t want to get involved after all, then fine. But I’d like the opportunity to find out. And who knows what WICA is looking for? I might be able to join a training programme, or get a desk job I could do alongside my studies. That way I won’t have to be bridled, and I’d be working towards a proper career.’

‘You’re a schoolboy, not a spy. And . . .’ Ashton cleared his throat, looking Lucas straight in the eye. ‘And you are my only child.’

‘Dad . . .’

‘Listen to me. You have no idea of the risks involved. The dangers, the complexities.
You’re not ready for this
.’

‘Then I must learn to be. Because I’m not an ordinary witch; I’m a prodigy. No, Dad – I know it’s true. There’s a heat and strength inside me that I’ve never felt before . . . I didn’t ask for it, and I don’t want it, but that’s how it is. And sometimes it feels that if I can’t find a way of using it I’ll go mad.’

Ashton Stearne studied his son, and it was as if he stood before a stranger.

‘Please,’ Lucas said quietly. ‘You have to let me find my own way.’

Chapter 13

In the days following her visit to the Morgans, Glory concentrated on practising witchwork. With her great-aunt to guide her, she was shown how to hex banes that would give someone stomach cramps or buzzing in the ears. She was told the best way to rot food and poison water, and how to staunch a wound and calm a fever just by touch. She practised scrying in bowls of water to see visions of people elsewhere. She learned how to cast a glamour that would change her looks, and a fascination that would bedazzle people into seeing what she wanted them to . . . How to craft talismans and amulets . . . How to make animals do her bidding, find lost objects, whistle up a wind . . .

Auntie Angel couldn’t do many of these things herself. But she told Glory how she’d seen others accomplish them, and gave famous examples from history and legend. There were some things Glory didn’t want to try, like making poppets to enslave a person’s will. Or casting the so-called black banes, the irreversible kind, which could break the heart and blind an eye. But Angeline taught her the principles nonetheless. In fact, the only thing they didn’t go into was sky-leaping. It was just too risky to try in London. Auntie Angel promised her a day out in the country, where they’d find a nice deserted wood or empty farm for her to have a go, away from prying eyes.

It was all just as Glory hoped. Her instincts were on the mark, she could do everything she put her mind to, and each new act of witchwork filled her with delight.

Her great-aunt’s pleasure in her gifts was almost as great as her own. Sometimes the old lady would get sentimental, though. ‘Of course,’ she’d say, ‘it oughter be your ma teaching you this. Just like my own dear ma should’ve been there to teach me and the twins.’

Angeline’s mother had been imprisoned at the end of the Second World War, and died a year later in an Inquisition prison. The Allies had employed witches in the conflict – it was one of their advantages against the Nazis – but this had been a secret strategy, and the penalties for civilian witches remained harsh. Mrs Starling had been caught using witchwork to try to contact her husband in the navy. In fact, his ship had been torpedoed and he was already drowned, so his wife’s death left thirteen-year-old Angeline and ten-year-old Lily and Cora orphans. Cooper Street had been a proper neighbourhood outfit then, and they were looked after by various coven families. But it had been a hard life.

Glory never forgot how lucky she was. Now and again she’d look at her slim, strong wrists and wince at the thought of iron clamps around them. The Inquisition was the bogeyman of her childhood, and she knew all the horror stories. Most began with a midnight raid: fists on the door, boots on the stairs, brutal hands dragging you from your bed. Then came the descent to the underground cells with their vats of ice-water, the iron muzzles that tightened around the head, long needles spiking into the body’s softest hollows . . . Of course, the Inquisition pretended things were different now. The secret trials and death squads had been plastered over with glossy leaflets and smiley mission statements. But Glory knew – everyone in the covens knew – that nothing had really changed. Inquisitors still treated the fae as a disease that needed to be burned out of the human race.

Cooper Street’s members were used to Glory spending time with her great-aunt but as a precaution many of their sessions were held early in the morning or late at night. Angeline secured the room with iron shutters and protective amulets. Meanwhile, Glory put in enough appearances at school to keep the truant officer off her back. It was an exhausting schedule, especially since the problem of who was ripping off the coven was never far from her mind.