Chaos Bound (21 page)

My thoughts darkened, and I wondered if my mother had been used by someone, had been convinced to lay with a celestial to produce me.

Sunken in gloomy thoughts, I didn’t notice Roman until he was standing in front of me. I closed the book, and tucked it beside me. This wasn’t something I wanted to share with him, not while everything felt so fragile.

Roman knelt, hands rubbing my legs. ‘Couldn’t sleep?’

I tried to shrug off my unease. ‘I'm fine. Do you want some coffee?’

He glanced at the book beside me. ‘What are you reading? Is this the book the nephilim from the Outlands gave you?’

My shoulders tensed, and I had to force my hands to stay still, and not cover the book up. ‘Turned out to be one big history lesson. It’s pretty dry reading.’

I eased out of the chair and walked to the kitchen, pulling Roman with me. He sat at the table and I hunted for my coffee pot.

‘Are you all right?’ Roman asked. ‘You seem upset.’

‘I'm just tired.’ I found the pot in the sink, and in need of a wash. I turned the tap on and waited impatiently for the pipes to stop clanging and start spitting water.

‘Worried about your trial today?’ Roman’s voice was gentle.

Water splashed over my hands and I quickly rinsed the pot, then filled it with water. I forced a smile on my stiff lips. ‘Nah. I told you, I got me a shit hot lawyer.’ I swore when I remembered I was out of coffee. ‘I'm going to throw on some clothes and bring us back some coffee. I'll stop at the bakery as well. The one down the road sells these little fried batter balls, soaked in syrup.’

‘You’d better get quite a few.’ Roman patted his stomach. ‘I already ate that omelette you made last night and I'm still starving.’

The morning air was brisk and I was glad I'd changed into warm clothes and a coat before heading out. People trod the pavement about me: most heading for work, some returning home from it.

Roman’s appearance had lightened the weight I'd felt on my shoulders the last few days, and I silently practised a further convincing argument for him to flee to the Outlands.

Engrossed in my thoughts, I didn’t see the Regulator coach until it was too late. It stopped ahead of me, with its forbidding iron-barred windows and steel-studded sides. Two Regulators jumped down from the driver’s perch and marched towards me. Pedestrians scattered, but not so far that they couldn’t see the show. I'd had some dealings with the Regulators in the last year, but didn’t recognise either of these grey-cloaked men. One was a curly redhead, while the other had a shaved head and a flat nose, like he’d been wacked in the face with a two-by-four.

‘Lora Blackgoat?’ Flat-nose asked.

‘Yeeeaaahs?’

‘We have been dispatched to bring you before your judges.’

I leant on my cane. ‘Bit early, isn’t it, boys? Thought my trial was at noon. What about my lawyer?’

‘We only have our orders to deliver you to your trial.’ Red-hair gestured towards the back of the coach. ‘We don’t want to use force, but we will if you resist.’

I blew out an exasperated breath. ‘Yeah, yeah. I'm coming, I'm coming.’

Something didn’t smell right about this, but I wasn’t sure what else I could do. The Grigori had a reputation for bending their own laws when it suited them. While my claim of killing Jonas Grundler in self-defence might have seen me walk free in a regular court, by admitting I'd used darkcraft I'd put myself in one of the law’s 'grey areas', where the Order of Guides could detain me, claiming I was a risk to others.

Flat-nose opened the back door of the coach. I hesitated, glancing down the street. People stood in groups, staring at me with open curiosity. Close by, a Mercury Boy watched me with wide eyes from a shopfront, and I gave him what I hoped passed for a meaningful look. The kid dipped his head in a brief nod, then scampered off. He knew he’d get money from Gideon for passing on what had happened. Red-hair tried push me into the coach, but I shrugged him off and hustled in myself. The door slammed shut behind me. Another Regulator sat in the back of the coach, watching as I settled on one of the hard benches, cane by my side. This Regulator, I recognised.

‘Is this ambush your doing?’ I asked.

Kruger’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. ‘The Grigori didn’t want to take chances on you being late.’

‘What about my lawyer?’

‘They’re frowned upon,’ Kruger said. ‘Most times lawyers are made to wait outside the Order’s walls until it’s over.’

‘How progressive of them.’

I heard the reins click, and we bounced around as the coach moved into traffic. Kruger put a hand against one wall to brace himself and I clung to my seat. Eventually the road smoothed out and I relaxed my grip. Kruger lowered his hand, and pulled at his beard, brows furrowed.

‘Don’t suppose you have anything to tell me about Roman?’ he asked.

‘Not a thing.’ I kept my tone neutral. Kruger was fishing, that was obvious enough. He was also human, so he possibly understood that the sun didn’t shine out of the Grigori’s backsides. Could I trust him not to turn Roman in? I doubted it.

Kruger yanked on his beard hard. ‘Hellfires, Lora. This is important. Do you understand how serious this is?’ He scrubbed his face with his hands. ‘When he’s found, there won’t be a trial for him. He’ll be placed in a cell and observed. This is just a formality. His life with the Order is over. The Grigori won’t rest until he’s dead. They always clean up their messes.’

I stared out the barred windows of the coach. My view was limited, but I caught enough of the scenery to see we were now on the bridge over the river.

When Kruger spoke again, I heard pain in his voice. ‘Nephilim are raised to follow orders, Lora. When they start becoming unreliable, it’s the first sign something’s wrong. If Roman’s got the sickness, then he’s dangerous. If he turns, he could hurt a lot of people. That’s why the Grigori always place someone near them, to watch them and make sure they’re healthy and whole. That was my job, and now I've got to see it through.’

I stared at Kruger, forcing his aura into view. It was the colour of chamomile, outlined in purple. Kruger was a peaceful enough man, but one who wouldn’t flinch from blood and violence. It didn’t, however, tell me if I could trust him.

‘I need to find him, and soon, Lora,’ Kruger said as the coach came to a stop. ‘He’d be afraid of what’s happening, and he needs help.’

The old grey-beard’s heart might have been in the right place, but it meant turning Roman over to be imprisoned, and possibly killed. I couldn’t allow that. ‘I told you, I don’t know where he is,’ I said briskly.

Kruger’s face dropped, clearly not believing me. ‘You’re making the wrong decision here. You’re letting your emotions get in the way of your judgement.’

I threw him a dimple. ‘Doesn’t sound like me at all.’

Once the coach stopped inside the Order’s compound walls, Kruger got out and walked off without another word. I watched him go, knowing I'd made the right decision. While the grizzly grey-bearded Regulator seemed genuinely concerned, there was no way I could reveal my plan of smuggling Roman to the Outlands.

Flat-nose appeared, indicating it was time to move, and I stepped out with a heavy hand on my cane. We walked into one featureless building and down a long colonnade. A finely manicured garden stretched across an open air courtyard, with stone benches and pebbled paths. Monks milled around us, holding files and talking in muted tones, their heavy robes swishing as they walked. A group of Grigori priests were having a spirited discussion, but fell silent as we passed.

It was a well-known fact that the Grigori held their trials in private. I heard the judgement rooms were called the Rooms of the Damned. My mind had conjured up visions of dimly lit cells, their walls stained with the blood of the so-called guilty. Maybe even an Iron Maiden in the corner, or a row of heads on stakes, and a line of the accused chained outside, waiting judgement. We came to a plain corridor, punctuated with heavy wooden doors. The last door was open and I was escorted through.

The room was intimidating in its simplicity. The walls were bare, and a long table stretched in front of a solitary wooden chair. Behind the table sat three Grigori. One was elderly, with drooping skin and sunken eyes. Beside him was a young Grigori with a chubby face and on the end, to my surprise, sat Fowler. My jaw clenched and I wondered if this trial would turn into something more. Like maybe Fowler wanting to grill me about Roman.

Flat-nose took my cane from me, and Red-hair indicated I should sit. I did, trying not to slouch and feel like I was back in school. My hands were sticky with sweat and I rubbed them on my pants. This wasn’t my first time before some sort of tribunal, and the previous time had ended in threats on both sides. Orella said I had an issue with authority. The snarky way I felt now, I was inclined to agree with her. Fear chilled my skin, but underneath lay a simmering anger. I tried to rein the feeling in, aware that if I was found guilty in this alarmingly small and closed court, I would be at the mercy of the Order. And I had plenty to hide.

The young, chubby Grigori smiled at me, like we were just going to have a nice little chat. ‘Lady Blackgoat, my name is Grigori Daveron. To my left is Grigori Fowler, and to my right is the esteemed Grigori Brackett.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Shall we begin?’

Fowler stood, fingertips lightly touching the table. ‘Lora Blackgoat, you have been charged with the crime of using darkcraft to commit the murder of Jonas Grundler. If you are found guilty, the punishment is death. Do you have your defence prepared?’

I looked around, hoping against hope that my lawyer was going to make some dramatic, last minute entrance and point out some loophole that was going to let me off. But the door remained depressingly closed, my two Regulator escorts standing either side.

I was just turning away when the doors banged open. My heart leapt with wild hope, but when I turned back, I only spied a man with a rotund belly in an expensive suit. My stomach dropped like I was on a rollercoaster from hell, recognising the Lord Mayor Corelli and a flock of Council administrators hovering behind him. The Regulators drew their swords from their spine sheaths, barring the way with their blades.

‘Lord Mayor Corelli,’ Fowler protested. ‘This is most irregular.’

The Mayor glared at the Regulators blocking his path. ‘I demand to attend this trial.’

‘For whatever possible reason, Lord Mayor?’ Daveron asked.

The Mayor’s eyes settled on me, sharp and accusing. I focused on him, and his aura sprung into focus: a whirlwind of bruised red and purple black. I swore silently, reading anger and hate. There could be only one reason the Mayor would make this kind of effort. For the same reason he was pushing to destroy Gideon through the audit of Blackgoat Watch: he knew. Somehow he’d found out I was the one who had performed the exorcism on his daughter.

I blinked away the swirling mass of colours and turned back to my judges. Fowler sat down with a sigh, and beckoned to the silent Regulators behind me. ‘Allow him to pass,’ he said in a resigned voice.

A Council member hurried into the room, carrying a stool. He placed it at the end of the table, next to the elderly Grigori, Brackett, before being ushered out. The Mayor swept past me with a contemptuous look and sat down.

Fowler pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Where were we?’

‘I was wondering where my lawyer was,’ I offered. ‘Too bad he doesn’t know about me being escorted here against my will.’

‘Since he’s not here, we will just have to proceed,’ Fowler said.

‘Are you serious?’ I waved a hand about indignantly. ‘Shouldn’t I have representation? Isn’t this illegal? Maybe a little immoral?’

‘No respect. No respect,’ Brackett mumbled. ‘Not like the old days, when people knew when to hold their tongue.’

‘Why is she talking so much?’ Daveron’s smooth forehead wrinkled and he glanced at the Regulators behind me. ‘Silence her if she talks out of turn again, or we’ll be here all day.’

Fowler raised his voice. ‘Lora Blackgoat, with no defence prepared, we must continue on and you shall represent yourself.’

I wondered if I was supposed to stand. I wondered if I was supposed to know legal speak. I wondered why my lawyer hadn’t guessed the Order would try to screw me over. When I saw that little pipsqueak again, I was going to snap his glasses in half.

‘How do you plead?’ Daveron asked me.

‘Misunderstood,’ I said.

‘What did she say?’ Brackett cupped an ear. ‘Tell her to speak up.’

‘I acted in self-defence,’ I said. ‘I had no choice; Jonas Grundler attacked me.’

‘No choice?’ Daveron looked surprised. ‘You chose to sully your soul with the taint of darkcraft over the use of any other weapon? Or a noble death?’

I levelled a flat stare at him. ‘Nothing noble about a death like that. You ever faced off with a crazed griorwolf?’ I bit my lip, cursing silently. Crowhurst had asked me to keep the fact Jonas Grundler was a griorwolf a secret, and I'd just blurted it out.

Brackett squinted at Fowler. ‘What did she just say? Griorwolf?’ His eyes dropped to the papers in front of him. ‘There’s nothing about it the report.’

‘Griorwolves are extinct,’ Daveron said. ‘You must be confused.’

‘I wasn’t confused.’ I grit my teeth. ‘They’re not extinct and he was about to kill me.’

‘Apparently the victim killed several people before he was…dispatched. However, there is no-one who will correlate that he was some mythical beast.’ Fowler gave me one of his razor-blade smiles. ‘It was a costumed party, was it not?’

I threw my hands up. ‘Fine. Whatever. He was a random lunatic then, running around, dressed as a griorwolf and killing people.’

Brackett hawked a bit in his throat. ‘Not a good enough excuse to use darkcraft, though.’

‘We must also take into account that she is a Witch Hunter,’ Fowler interjected. ‘She was raised by full-bloods and it is the fault of her guardians for not bringing her to the Order of Guides for assessment and training.’

‘A Witch Hunter, eh?’ Brackett chewed his bottom lip. ‘Has she been tested with the Apertor Elixir?’