Burn Mark (31 page)

Scrying could be done with any personal item up to half a day after it had been taken from the target. It had been horribly careless to leave the materials of the shroud behind. However, to scry on somebody, you also had to know who you were looking for. The witch must have been told who the fingernails belonged to. ‘How –’ Glory began. But Troy was already giving her the answer.

‘I’d asked Nate to keep tabs on the pair of you, and though he’s a feckless idiot, he did at least spot that you were both away from home last night.’ He grinned, enjoying her discomfort. ‘So I told the witch who I expected to see, and showed her both of your mugshots. Then she described the result of her scrying. Imagine our surprise when your partner in crime showed up as someone else entirely! Now, it was
possible
you were in the company of a different boy to Harry. But since your little pal’s a witch, it wasn’t hard to imagine he’d had a makeover. Just like he did for the Blake Gordon business.

‘Lucky for us, my scryer could see the shop front behind you clear enough. Once we’d identified that, it didn’t take long to track you down.’

Glory bit her lip. ‘You said you know Lucas weren’t responsible for the car-bomb. How come?’

His face darkened. ‘Because we found out who was. Jonesy, in security. You might have seen him at the Gemini: built like a tank, shaven head, bad teeth.’

This description applied to most coven muscle. She made a non-committal sound.

‘He’s been with us for nearly seven years. The tip-off came too late. Uncle Vince caught up with him early this morning but Jonesy’d already put a bullet in his head. Apparently he’d been blackmailed into it. Someone had got hold of his kid – this sweet little three-year-old called Tess. She was returned to Jonesy’s ex this morning. Neither of them can tell us anything.’

Glory knew the only UK outfit to rival the Morgans’ was the Craven Side Coven, up in Manchester. ‘Could it’ve been the Cravens?’

‘Maybe. Or one of the Russian gangs. They’ve been trying to muscle into UK turf for a while. Either way, we need to find out – fast.’

‘And how . . . how’s your dad doing?’

As far as Glory could tell, Charlie and Troy had a good relationship. But she had never seen any demonstrable gesture of affection between them. From the look of Troy now, unshaven and with bloodshot eyes, it was clear he’d been up all night. But he was tired and angry, not distraught.

‘It’s pretty bad. If he does pull through, God knows what state he’ll be in. Mum arrived this morning. She and Skye and the uncles are at the hospital now. Which means the thorny issue of what to do with you and your snitch-pal is my responsibility.’ He looked at her soberly. ‘And I’ve got to tell you, Glory, this is one hell of a mess you’re in.’

Glory’s mouth was very dry. ‘Y’know, before you take any decisions, you might want to have a look at the film what Lucas made at the Radley.’ She had not yet told Troy what, exactly, the two of them had learned from Lady Merle.

‘Dad’s last meeting . . . Yes, I should see it.’

Glory waited. Troy was staring out of the window at the wall in front, one hand tap-tapping on the wheel. ‘I just thought I’d have a bit more time,’ he said at last, very quietly.

‘Time? For what?’

‘Nothing that you’d understand.’ He looked at her with impatience, and a kind of envy. ‘You’re big on inheritance, aren’t you? The Starling Girl Destiny . . . Must be nice and simple for you.’

Before she could respond, he opened the car door. ‘All right. Let’s go chat with Little Lord Fauntleroy.’

Lucas had been locked in the boot of the Mercedes for nearly half an hour. He was very hot and cramped when he came out, the discomfort of his confinement intensified by the dizzying effect of the iron cuffs. These stayed on when Troy shoved him into the back seat.

Glory turned around from the front. ‘I told him how you was sent to investigate the witch-terrorism,’ she managed to say before Troy cut her off.

‘Stay put and shut up,’ he told them.

Although Lucas didn’t really think Glory would rat on him, he felt a flood of relief. He had spent most of his time in the boot agonising about what she might reveal, and boiling with frustration that he couldn’t be there to hear whatever cover story she came up with. At least this took his mind off all the things that Troy might be planning to do to him.

Troy’s destination was a run-down office block behind Kings Cross. There was a private gym in the basement that was used as an informal drop-in centre for the lower coven ranks. Nobody was there now. The air was thick with stale sweat and aerosol spray; treadmills and weights gleamed dully under the fluorescent lights. Troy marched them through the fitness suite into the office behind.

It was only then that he released Lucas from the cuffs. ‘Glory seems to think the meeting you snooped on last night is something I ought to know about. So before I decide what to do with you, I want to see what you’ve got.’

With nervous hands, Lucas attached the tiny spy-cam to Troy’s laptop and pressed the playback button. WICA’s equipment had not let him down: the picture was clear, the sound crisp. Troy watched the discussion between his father and Serena Merle in grim silence. He didn’t say anything afterwards either.

‘You have to understand,’ said Lucas, as the silence stretched on, ‘that the only reason I came to Cooper Street was because WICA thought a coven witch was responsible for the terrorist attacks. Now I know differently, what goes on in the coven doesn’t matter to me any more – it’s the corrupt inquisitors I’m after. I haven’t got anything on you, let alone your organisation. I’m not any kind of threat.’

‘Threat! Don’t flatter yourself.’ Troy’s voice dripped scorn. ‘Do you want to know why you’re still here, still breathing? Because you’re not just a kid, you’re
incompetent
. An amateur.

‘I don’t care how fancy your fae is. You didn’t spot I had Nate checking up on you. You left traces of witchwork all over the place. You either didn’t bother to remake your elusions, or you forgot. WICA must be in a bad way if they’re putting untrained schoolboys on the job.’

Lucas flushed resentfully. ‘If they’re in a bad way now, it’s only going to get worse. We have to look at the bigger picture. This is a matter of national –’

‘It’s a matter of an evil stinking pyro plot,’ Glory interrupted. Lucas’s lord-of-the-manor air would do nobody any favours. ‘What d’you reckon, Troy?’

‘You heard my dad,’ he said slowly. ‘Whatever we might think of the situation, it’s not the Wednesday Coven’s business.’

‘That was then. This is
now
,’ Glory replied. ‘With Uncle Charlie on life-support, everything’s changed. You said yourself that car-bomb could be the start of something bigger – a turf war, even. So whether your dad recovers or not, the Wednesday Coven is going to face one hell of a mess. It’ll be a coven blood feud on one side, and a witch-hunt on the other.’

Troy didn’t respond.

Lucas took a deep breath. ‘Look. I went to Cooper Street with a lot of preconceptions about the coven world. Some of those ideas were wrong. I didn’t appreciate that the covens came into being to protect people, by giving witchkind opportunities and rights they didn’t have elsewhere.’ He wasn’t sure he believed in what he was saying. It was part coven propaganda, part myth. But myths were powerful things, and sometimes there was truth at their core. ‘That’s why so many witches still trust them. That’s why they give them their loyalty, and why the Inquisition and the police find them so hard to break. Maybe a witch-hunt’s good for recruitment, like your dad says. But if people find out you guys had a chance to stop the lynching and the burnings, and didn’t . . . Well. Doing nothing – it’s not that different from collaboration, is it?’

Glory tensed. She wondered if Lucas had gone too far.

‘You told me you trusted this boy before,’ Troy said to her, his expression unreadable. ‘He was lying to you then. He might be lying to you now. Or you’re both lying, and always have been. What do you think?’

‘I think this thing is bigger than any of us.’

‘Hmm. And what do the pair of you intend to do about it?’

Hesitantly, they explained about Glory going to find Lady Merle at the ball, and Lucas searching the Inquisition’s HQ.

‘I’m sure you’ll be right at home,’ Troy remarked. ‘In fact, I’m curious as to why you’ve not yet run to Daddy Dearest. Unless, of course, you suspect the Chief Prosecutor’s mixed up in this.’

‘My father’s not corrupt.’

‘Oh yeah? He’s a High Inquisitor who’s spawned a witch but kept his job. I would’ve thought there was something in the rules about that.’

‘There is. He’s going to resign at the end of the Goodwin trial. In the meantime, my . . . condition isn’t widely known. That’s why WICA recruited me.’

‘That still doesn’t explain why you haven’t asked him for help. Or aren’t you on speaking terms, now you’re an out and proud witch-kid?’

‘It’s nothing like that. I need to get proper evidence first.’

‘Your dad won’t believe you without it?’

‘Of course he would. But he’d insist on doing things by the book. By the time he went through the protocol, and got search warrants issued and witnesses subpoenaed, it might be too late.’

‘If the conspirators suspect we’re on to them,’ Glory chipped in, ‘that witch they’re using is as good as dead. They won’t risk keeping him or her alive to tell tales.’

Lucas nodded. ‘Supposedly, only a handful of top-ranking people at the Inquisition know I’m a witch. However, as soon as we make our accusations the truth will come out. The enemy’ll be quick to turn it to their advantage, so that Dad’s credibility is damaged as well as mine. Getting him involved could backfire.’

This wasn’t the whole truth about why Lucas wasn’t ready to ask his father for help. He might have failed to infiltrate the Wednesday Coven, or keep the Goodwin trial from collapse, but now he had a new opportunity to prove himself – to stop an even greater crime, against even worse odds. He would use his fae to purge the Inquisition of the enemy within. He would be a Stearne worthy of the name . . .

But Troy was laughing to himself. ‘I see. You don’t know when or what the next witch-attack will be, where the witch responsible is being held, or how to bring the guilty parties to justice. You can’t trust any of the authorities. And you want start your crusade by gatecrashing a high-society ball.’ He leaned back on his chair, fingers laced behind his head. ‘OK . . . First, you need to get Glory on to Lady Merle’s guest list. This isn’t a school disco – you can’t just turn up and hope for the best. You’ll need to look the part and have an escort, as well as a nice fancy invitation card.’

‘An escort?’ Glory repeated.

‘If you’ll do me the honour.’ He gave a mocking little half-bow. ‘And preferably wash beforehand.’

So they’d won Troy over! Glory felt a rush of optimism. Lucas wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or alarmed. But perhaps any help – even the criminal kind – was better than nothing.

Ironically, Lucas’s best hope of infiltrating the Inquisition would be to play the part of his father’s son. Most of the guards and officials there knew who he was, but hardly anyone knew of his condition. His records would be kept under a false name until the Goodwin trial was over, just in case an over-zealous inquisitor learned of his condition, and insisted that Ashton Stearne stand down. This evening, he explained to Troy and Glory, he would simply turn up at the gate and explain that he’d come to collect some paperwork for his dad.

‘I’ll need to stop off at home first,’ he said. ‘My father and stepmother are away, and I know where Dad keeps his keys to the catacombs. But once I’m in the Outer Temple compound, I’ll be able to wander about undisturbed.’

It was not, in fact, quite so simple – although Troy and Glory weren’t to know any different. Lucas had indeed visited his father at the office and in court on plenty of occasions, but he would still need a good reason to be there unsupervised at night. The Inquisition was a 24-7 organisation. Even though it was a bank holiday, there would still be people about, and strict security controls.

Luckily, Lucas had the perfect cover. He’d had the idea in mind ever since he’d thought of searching the catacombs. His way in would be through the Hammers: the members of the young inquisitors’ club who met at St Cumanus’s church. Lucas wasn’t an official member. But last Christmas, at some Inquisition event, one of the younger officers who was keen to ingratiate himself with Ashton Stearne, had offered to take Lucas along to a social. ‘Come as my guest,’ he’d said. ‘Any time you like. Just give me a call.’

Now was the time to take him up on the offer. The Hammers met on Wednesday nights, but they also marked religious holidays – Christmas, Balefire Night and Easter. Tonight would be a big event.

I’ll say I’ve got over my illness and want to celebrate
, Lucas thought.
I’ll get one of those hooded robes they wear, and a bottle of booze, and if I do get caught somewhere I shouldn’t, I’ll just be a drunken idiot who got lost en route to the party. If the worst comes to the worst, they’ll only phone my dad.

Since Lucas’s arrangements seemed to be in hand, the three of them got down to the practicalities of attending Lady Merle’s ball. Although the tickets were sold in benefit of the children’s charity, and the Merles were hosting the event, the actual organisation was done by a professional party-planning service. Troy used his IT skills to hack into the files. They discovered Silas Paterson was on the guest list, presumably to support his good pal Godfrey Merle.