Burn Mark (40 page)

‘Serena Merle was a vicious maniac, with connections to the criminal underworld.’ Paterson spoke slowly, carefully, working things out. ‘The three of you lured me and Lord Merle up to the attic, where you –’

‘We saved your life!’

‘You took me hostage. A coven slut and a two-bit hood.’ He looked at Troy. ‘Like father, like son. It appears to be a bad week for the Morgan family.’

‘It was you behind that bomb, weren’t it?’

Paterson smiled. ‘Charles Morgan is a very unpopular man. There’s a long line of people waiting to give him his just deserts. I merely . . . encouraged . . . the operation. Morgan Senior got lucky. You two won’t be quite so fortunate.’

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ A small dark-haired woman Glory had never seen before was standing in the doorway. She too was armed. Officer Jonah Branning was behind her, holding up his inquisitorial badge. They were both breathing hard. ‘Put the gun down, Colonel,’ the woman said.

Paterson turned around. He looked more irritated than alarmed, and when he saw Jonah, he visibly relaxed.

‘Wait . . . I know you . . . Branston, isn’t it? What are you doing here? Well – never mind. Your timing is perfect. I’ve apprehended a pair of dangerous criminals, and I’ll need you to radio ahead for back-up.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. I have a warrant for your arrest from the Witchfinder General, on a charge of high treason.’

Silas Paterson’s silvery features turned iron grey. ‘That is impossible.’

‘Nevertheless, sir, I’m going to have to ask you to surrender your weapon and come with us.’

The small dark woman advanced towards the room. Her face was intent, and her aim didn’t waver. Disdainfully, Colonel Paterson put down the gun.

Glory seized the box of witchwork, and went to Troy. He stirred and groaned and, to her immense relief, managed to sit up. ‘I knew you were trouble,’ he mumbled.

‘You are making a grievous mistake,’ Paterson was saying, as the woman put him in cuffs. ‘And you’ll live to regret it, just as soon as my colleagues –’

A radio crackled, and a man called up from the hall below. The fire brigade were on their way. Paterson smiled. He knew he had the real authority in the room. Quick as a flash, the female agent slapped a piece of adhesive tape across his mouth. His eyes bulged.

‘New operational procedure,’ she explained, as she proceeded to pull a black cloth hood over his grunting, tossing head. ‘Clause 9 of the Witch-Terrorism Act came into effect this afternoon.’

She propelled her now anonymous captive out into the gallery. Jonah helped Glory get Troy to his feet, and the five of them moved towards the stairs. A firefighter met them there. He looked at them uneasily.

‘Is everything all right, sir?’

‘Yes,’ Jonah answered briskly. ‘And thank you for your cooperation. Agent Connor and I are now going to escort the suspect to a secure detention facility. These two will accompany us as witnesses.’

Silas Paterson shook his head furiously and made a kind of strangled bellow. Jonah ignored him. ‘As I explained to you when we arrived, this is an issue of national security. Special measures are in force. The Inquisition expects your utmost discretion.’

It was not the place of the Fire and Rescue Service to question the diktats of the Inquisition, or its officers. ‘All right, fine. But I have to ask you to leave immediately. We need to evacuate this building.’

Jonah nodded. As soon as the firefighter had moved on, he turned to Glory, and his composure slipped. ‘But where’s Lucas?’

Chapter 36

 

Zilla came into the ducking-room with an armful of blankets. She stared at Lucas with impersonal curiosity. The witch-stain was already fading from his skin, but the shakes had set in. He was sitting against the wall, arms wrapped around his body in a futile attempt to keep in the warmth. His shivers were hard and merciless, the muscles contracting in mechanical jerks. His teeth rattled like loose stones. She threw the blankets at his feet and he crawled into them with animal relief.
I'm alive
, he thought.
It's done
. For the moment, he didn't care about anything else.

‘Have you heard from the Colonel?' Gideon asked.

‘I left a message but he's not answering his phone. How'd it go in here?'

‘Fine – I even managed to get some photos for the file. Really, it went like clockwork. Much better than the demo.'

‘Lucky you. What do we do with him now?'

‘Keep him here until further notice, I imagine. It'll all be wrapped up by tomorrow night anyway.'

‘In that case, I'm going to check on . . . well. You know. Then I'll try the Colonel again. He'll want an update.'

Zilla left, and Striker went to stand guard outside the door. For the first time since coming here, Lucas wondered about the witch they'd been using for the attacks. Was he or she locked up in this basement too? Was that who Zilla was checking? Yet he could not summon the energy for real interest. He wound the blankets about him more tightly. They were smelly and itchy, but thick wool. After a while, the shudders became shakes, then trembles. He concentrated on breathing in and out, slow and sure.

Gideon, meanwhile, sat on a chair nearby and fiddled with his phone. Maybe he was sending urgent communications to the other conspirators. Maybe he was posting the pictures of Lucas's ducking on his Facebook page.

‘People will be looking for me,' Lucas said eventually. His voice was scratchy and thin, and hard to steady. ‘My father, my warden, WICA . . . they won't rest until they know what happened.'

‘That's simple enough,' Gideon drawled. ‘You were caught breaking into a High Inquisitor's office, where you used witchwork to attack an inquisitorial employee. You tried to feed us some garbage about being a secret agent, yet there's no record of you in any official file. Your detainment and interrogation is entirely legitimate. Really, Stearne, you've only yourself to blame.'

‘Keeping me down here won't do any good. Someone on your team has already leaked the plot to the Wednesday Coven. WICA have the details; the Inquisition too.'

‘Funny. You're so full of righteous certainty, you say you have all this support . . . and yet you decided to burgle the Inquisition by yourself. That seems pretty desperate to me.'

Gideon tilted back on his chair. ‘Besides, the covens aren't in any position to cause trouble. Not after Charlie Morgan's unfortunate accident. And, as we know, WICA's credibility is about to be shot to pieces.'

‘Not all inquisitors are like you,' Lucas said quietly. ‘They'll know something's up. They'll start to ask questions.'

‘I'm sure they will. Such as “what strings did the Chief Prosecutor pull to keep his witch-spawn off the register?”, for example. You see, it's starting to look as if the Stearne family have cut a lot of rather dangerous corners. Important security procedures have been breached. The fact that a handful of Inquisition officials have colluded in this only confirms how deep the corruption goes. Once Colonel Paterson and his team have swooped in to arrest Rawdon and save the day, I think a lot of people will be calling for regime change.'

Lucas was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up. He looked at Gideon tiredly. ‘How long, really, have you known I'm a witch?'

‘Ah . . .' Gideon pulled a sorrowful face. ‘Let's just say that your stepsister has been having a very difficult time. Poor Philly feels that no one ever listens to her.'

Philomena. Of course. Not that it had made any difference in the end. Gideon was right: he'd brought this on himself. Lucas closed his eyes, let the world fade.

He might even have dropped off for a moment or so. Sheer exhaustion had overwhelmed everything else. But he snapped back to wakefulness when he realised Striker was in the room.

‘Fine,' Gideon was saying. ‘I'll talk to her. Stay here, and keep an eye on our friend.'

Striker squatted down on his haunches and regarded Lucas. His lean, bony face had a hungry look. ‘
Ssssssss
,' he whispered, and sucked his gold tooth. Lucas kept his eyes on the floor. He was trying to listen to Zilla and Gideon's conversation on the other side of the door.

‘. . . Helena on the line . . . There's a problem . . . blaze . . . Can't . . . get hold . . . Nobody's seen . . . I'm sure . . .'

But then they moved away, and he couldn't hear anything more, except for Striker's soft hiss.

After only five minutes or so, Gideon returned. He didn't look quite so sleek, or so sure. Something was wrong. Lucas felt a flicker of hope. Then he saw what Gideon was holding.

‘Zilla and I have some business to attend to, so we'll have to say goodbye for now. Striker here will look after you. I'm sorry about the bridle, I really am. But we can't afford you trying any witch-tricks while we're gone. As an inquisitor's son, I'm sure you'll understand.'

He passed the witch's bridle to Striker. It was the same one he'd used to muzzle Nell Dawson.

Lucas lifted his head. ‘Aren't you going to stay and watch? That's what you really like to do, isn't it, Gideon? Isn't that why you took my photograph?'

If Gideon felt his contempt, he didn't show it. He paused at the door, and smoothed down his hair disdainfully. ‘I like to see justice done. That's what the public wants too. Once the Inquisition's powers are restored, we'll start to see more punishment, less witchcrime.'

Once Gideon left, the room felt even colder. It was not the witch's bridle that Lucas was most afraid of. It was being alone with Striker.

 

The fire in the west wing of Lord Merle's mansion had spread from the attic to the upper floors. As Glory followed the others out of the main entrance, she could see thick red flames gushing like blood from the side of the house. The mill of firefighters, medics and gawping onlookers reminded her of the aftermath of Charlie's car-bomb. But with all the activity and excitement, their own exit passed relatively unnoticed. A black van was waiting for them outside the door with its engine running. Without further ado, Colonel Paterson was bundled into the back and she and Troy clambered into the passenger seats, next to Jonah. Agent Connor sat up with the driver.

Jonah was already on the phone to the Inquisition. ‘They say Lucas left about an hour ago,' he told Glory. ‘He'd been drinking apparently – was in quite a state. An old school friend by the name of Gideon Hale was taking care of him. It sounds like a set-up to me.'

Glory looked at her watch. The meeting between Silas and Serena, the fire and their escape, the confrontation in Merle's collection room . . . it had taken just over half an hour. And all this time, Lucas had been in the hands of the enemy.

‘How d'you get here so quick?' she asked, as they sped out of the avenue and back to the city.

‘We have Matt to thank for that.' Jonah indicated the driver. ‘He works for the police, in the armed response unit. We sort of . . . well, requisitioned his vehicle.'

‘Jonah is my sister's witch warden,' said Matt, a middle-aged man with a stocky build and quiet manner. ‘She's bridled, and last year some yob threw a stone at her in the street. It missed Stacey, and hit her little girl instead. Blinded her in one eye. It was Officer Branning who brought the man to justice.' He shrugged. ‘Breaking a few traffic regulations is the least I can do.'

Agent Connor turned round from the seat next to him. ‘Sorry. There hasn't really been time for introductions, has there? I'm Zoey,' she said. ‘We spoke on the phone.'

‘Yeah, we've met before.' This, then, was the true face of the redhead who'd accompanied Lucas to the safe house. ‘Um, thanks for the rescue.'

‘Don't thank us yet,' she said crisply. ‘We've illegally abducted a High Inquisitor. Our troubles have hardly started.'

Glory had wanted to get straight to the Lucas issue, but this brought her up short. ‘I thought you got a warrant?'

‘Not yet. Jonah has informed the Chief Prosecutor of the situation. He's on his way home from abroad, and is in contact with the Home Secretary and Police Commissioner, not to mention the Witchfinder General. But in the meantime, we're operating outside the law.' Zoey shook her head. ‘It's damn lucky we found you when we did. We had no idea what we'd be dealing with . . . How's your friend doing, by the way?'

Troy had his eyes closed. His red hair was rusted with blood from where the rim of the scrying-bowl had cut him.

‘I'm fine,' he muttered. ‘Bit of a headache, that's all.'

‘Looks like a nasty blow,' Jonah said. ‘You should see a doctor.'

‘I said I'm fine.' Troy's mutter deepened to a growl. Glory could sympathise. A road trip with an inquisitor, a policeman and an WICA agent would give any Morgan the jitters.

Glory looked down at the box she'd carried out of Lord Merle's collection. It had seemed so important at the time, but away from the witchwork display, the contents could have been any old junk. ‘We need to find Lucas,' she said. ‘Now the prickers know we're on to them they're probably chucking out all the evidence. Even if we get warrants and suchlike, it'll be too late.'