Chaos Broken (6 page)

Home was a two-storey redbrick terrace house in Toxeth Street, not far from Abraham's Alley. My furniture was second-hand and my chimney clogged every winter, but it was my sanctuary, guarded by protective hexes scrawled in chalk on windows and doorframes.

But sanctuary or not, a quick survey of my empty kitchen brought glum, lonely thoughts. Once upon a time, I'd had a housekeeper and every morning she had greeted me with a hot breakfast and a warm fire in the living room. Her name had been Morgan, and I'd considered her family. So when a hellspawn I'd been hunting killed her, it had torn a gaping hole in my life, one I hadn't managed to plaster over yet, let alone consider hiring another housekeeper. As a result, my pantry was permanently bare, save for a bag of coffee, one of the more important food groups.

Lighting my range cooker, I put some water on to boil, then checked for mail. A few envelopes sat piled under the front-door mail slot. Most of them were messages from Mercury boys, passing on enquiries from Runners, but when I recognised one with Gideon's handwriting on the front, my heart gave an excited lurch.

Sitting down at the kitchen table with a fresh coffee, I tore the envelope open and squinted at Gideon's cramped writing. Apparently they were having a great time in a small coastal village, and the warm weather was agreeing with Orella's joints and cough.

The second page began with Gideon outlining his exploits at the local taverns, but I was interrupted by a knock at the door. Sighing, I put the letter down. I'd always considered myself a loner, but the revelation that I missed Gideon and Orella was an indication I'd been kidding myself. It felt like a chunk of me was missing.

I wasn't that surprised to find Crowhurst at the front door. I was, however, surprised to see Nicola Marrok with him. She had been an actress in a former life, and our paths had crossed when I'd been hired as her bodyguard. She still had a breathtaking beauty about her, despite a few extra lines around her eyes. The death of her husband, Crowhurst's brother Tarn, had been difficult to bear, though I'd wager the squirming baby in her arms had caused the bags under her eyes. I noticed Crowhurst had a basket of food in his hands.

‘Hello? You're both welcome in,' I said, neutralising the household hexes. Nothing says ‘bad hostess' like leaving your guests writhing in agony inside your home.

‘Hold Tarn for a moment, will you?' Nicola handed me her baby before grabbing the basket from Crowhurst and breezing by me. ‘I've bought you some supplies. Reuben said you're not taking care of yourself.'

‘Oh, is that right?' I held the baby tight and shot Crowhurst a dirty look.

Crowhurst's eyes twinkled. ‘Hearing any clocks ticking, Lora? Getting any special feelings?'

I tried to thrust the baby into his arms. ‘Here. He's your nephew.'

‘She gave him to you.' He held his hands up.

The baby looked at me with big eyes and a line of drool fell from his mouth.

‘Look, see? He likes you,' Crowhurst said.

I hurried into the kitchen where Nicola was stacking food in my icebox and pantry.

‘Honestly, Lora,' she said. ‘It's a wonder you don't have scurvy. There was nothing in here but some coffee beans.'

‘Why don't you let me do that?' I held the wiggling baby out to her pointedly.

Nicola took him with an exasperated sigh. ‘Is it that hard for big, bad Lora to hold a baby?' She looked down at the bundle in her arms. ‘I fink Wora is silly-willy, isn't she? Isn't she?'

I backed out of the kitchen as Nicola talked like she'd developed a speech impediment. Breathing easier in the lounge, I spotted Crowhurst flicking through the Aldebaran Gorath had given me. With a shriek of alarm I snatched it from him, realising I should have burned it first thing that morning.

‘I'm surprised you haven't torched it yet. Isn't that the grand plan?' Crowhurst asked, picking up a local street-press paper from my coffee table.

I tucked the book behind the woodpile by the fireplace, telling myself the next time I had the energy to light my fireplace, the book was going in it. ‘Never you mind. What are you doing here?'

‘We were supposed to go to your old school this morning to ask around about the missing cat,' Crowhurst reminded me. ‘I was heading this way when Nicola came looking for you.' He hesitated, then added, ‘You might like to know someone painted something suggestive on the front of your house.'

‘What?' My objections about visiting my old school stuttered to a halt. Rushing outside, I backed down my tiny front pathway. On the front wall, someone had painted across my townhouse.

He Will Rise.

It was sprinkling with rain and a group of neighbours watched me from the sidewalk, sheltering under the monstrous ash tree outside my home. Crowhurst poked his head outside.

‘You want me to get someone to clean it up?' he asked.

‘What do you think?' I glanced over at the neighbours, feeling exposed.

‘Nice paint job, Lady Blackgoat!'

Scanning the crowd, I spied a group of streetwalkers grinning at me and looking generally amused. One of them had her hands on her hips and looked like she wanted to start laughing, but needed to get a punchline out first.

‘You got something to say?' I asked her.

‘I heard Blackgoat was going out of business. I wanna know if this is some new venture? Who's the
he
and what exactly is
rising?'
She made a suggestive gesture towards her crotch.

‘There's no such thing happening in this house,' I shouted, then stomped back inside. Crowhurst had already retreated into the living room and was settled with his nose in the street press.

‘What's it supposed to mean. He is rising? Is that a quote?' I growled.

‘How would I know?' Crowhurst mumbled. ‘Are you still seeing the freak?'

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. ‘Roman is not a freak.'

‘He's got giant wings, Lora. Some citizens might talk about him like he's some sort of saviour for the nephilim, but trust me, I'm a griorwolf and us freaks? We can smell our own.'

‘Just because you get hairy and grow fangs once in a while, doesn't mean you understand what Roman's going through.' I gestured towards outside. ‘Look, just arrange for someone to paint over it?'

‘Will do, boss.'

I blew out a long breath. ‘Do we really have to go look for this cat? Can't we just send a Runner? I've faced down assassins and hellspawn. Chasing a feline is degrading.'

Crowhurst looked at me over the edge of the paper. ‘Headmistress Poulter is expecting you to take care of this personally. Do you really want to pay one of the Runners to find a pet?'

‘Actually, I'm pretty sure I do.'

‘We can't afford it.' Crowhurst ducked his head back into the paper. ‘Besides, what's the big deal? It's not like there's anything else you're working on. Unless you want to spend the day painting over the new business slogan on your home.'

‘Fine. We'll go.'

Nicola walked into the lounge room, holding a tray of food and cold bottles of cider. ‘I've made bacon and tomato sandwiches.'

I searched the floor. ‘Where's the baby?'

Nicola put the plate down. ‘He has a name, Lora.'

‘I know, I know.' I peeked behind the couch and spied Tarn sitting in the kitchen doorway, chewing on his fist. Our eyes locked, and he gave me a smile I found very suspicious.

Nicola pushed me into a chair and shoved a sandwich into my hands. ‘He's just started crawling, the exercise is good for him.'

‘My floor isn't that clean,' I said as I bit into the sandwich.

Nicola frowned. ‘I noticed. And you don't look after yourself very well either. Your hair is shocking with all those black roots and streaks. Why did you stop dying it?'

‘Too much hassle,' I muttered.

Nicola sat back, hands folded in her lap. She appeared to be expecting me to say something. My eyes slid to Crowhurst, who put down the paper and was suddenly fascinated with the sandwich in his hand.

‘So…um…thanks for this,' I said.

Nicola waved a hand, dismissing her kindness. ‘Have you thought about my offer yet?'

‘Offer?' I arched my eyebrows at Crowhurst questioningly.

‘Ah, yes.' Crowhurst cleared his throat. ‘I hadn't gotten around to asking Lora yet.'

‘Why not?' Nicola frowned, a line of steel in her voice.

‘Yeah, Crowhurst,' I chimed in. ‘Why not?'

‘You won't like it,' he said.

‘Won't like what?'

‘Honestly. If you want something done, you have to do it yourself.' Nicola looked at me. ‘I have a proposition for you, Lora. As you know, after my father died, I inherited all of his estates and business dealings. I sold most of them and with the money I'm opening a theatre company, near Avalon Square. We're hoping opening day will be in a few months.'

I felt a hand against my leg and jumped, realising the baby had crawled under my legs and was playing with the hem of my dressing gown.

‘I've been searching for a play,' Nicola said. ‘A play that's going to put us on the map.'

‘I'm telling you, she won't like it,' Crowhurst repeated.

Nicola ignored him. ‘I don't want to put on the same tired dramas that have been around for decades. I want a new story, a legend that has been born here in Harken. Something to get people talking, something to make a name for ourselves.'

Then Nicola opened her mouth and dropped the weirdest bombshell I'd heard in a while. ‘I want to write a serialised play, based on your experiences as a Runner.'

‘What?' The last of my sandwich got stuck in my throat and I coughed, grabbing one of the ciders and gulped it down. ‘You're kidding, right?'

Nicola shook her head. ‘This is a serious business offer, Lora. I'd pay you for the rights to your story and you can have final say on what goes into each play. You'd meet with my head writer, who has already started cobbling together information. But I do need your permission and my writer requires your personal insight into what really goes on in the life of a female Runner. So far, I'm thinking we might call it
The Rose of Applecross
.'

‘No.' I shook my head.

‘It's not the worse nickname you've had,' Crowhurst pointed out.

‘Absolutely not.'

Crowhurst and Nicola exchanged glances, then Crowhurst said, ‘That was my first reaction as well. But then I thought about it. What better way to get Blackgoat Watch back on track? It's the ultimate advertising opportunity. The work is minimal and the fee would help the company out of the worst of its current financial situation.'

‘You've got to be kidding me,' I said, though the mention of money stopped me from rejecting the idea outright.

‘Lora.' Crowhurst leant forward. ‘We wouldn't be in this situation if your contract with the Order hadn't been cancelled. Do you really want Gideon to come back to a bankrupt company?'

‘Dirty.' I glared at him. ‘That's low and dirty.'

‘It's the truth.'

‘It's not a very nice one,' I muttered, then addressed Nicola. ‘So you'd just get some actress to play me? I mean, really?'

Nicola gave a low chuckle. ‘In fact, I would play you, Lora. After all, I've had the opportunity to see you in action first-hand.'

‘You?' My eyebrows rose, remembering the saucy plays she'd been performing in when our paths had first crossed. ‘Pretend to be me?'

‘I've been taking acting classes for a while. I could pull off a good Lora Blackgoat scowl.'

I realised I was frowning and made an effort to smooth my face out. ‘Look, can I have some time to think about it? This is all a bit much to take in.'

‘Of course,' Nicola said. ‘But I need to know your answer soon.'

While Crowhurst hailed a rickshaw for Nicola and Tarn, I went upstairs to dress. Picking out a long-sleeved shirt under a tight leather vest, I matched it with black jeans and my old Tanker boots, customised to house a six-inch blade inside the toes. My work-belt was then strapped around my waist and a dagger tucked into a special sheath in my bra. I left my arm-rig behind, though, thinking it might be slight overkill in a search for a missing cat.

My old school was tucked away in Flicker Lane, one of the boundary streets of Applecross. The district orphanage loomed opposite, consisting of three connected buildings: an eastern wing for boys, a western wing for girls, and a central administration building. Crowhurst parked nearby and we walked towards the school.

‘This is where you were educated, then?' Crowhurst asked, looking around.

‘Uh huh,' I replied.

‘Maybe you should ask for your money back.'

‘Hey. I got smarts just fine.' I cuffed the back of his head. Crowhurst just chuckled and smoothed back his ruffled hair.

We stepped through the stone gates and up a paved path to the main administration building. Inside, paintings of past school teachers lined the walls, scowling down at us, and uncomfortable wooden benches lined the walls. We approached the desk, where a woman was filing folders into a cabinet. A bell rang out and the noise of children shrieking and laughing filled the air.

‘Excuse me,' I said over the din.

The woman looked distinctly irritated at being disturbed, but her face quickly smoothed out as she approached, professional smile in place. ‘Can I help you? Are you looking to enrol a child?'

‘No. I wanted to talk to Headmistress Poulter. I'm Lora Blackgoat.'

Her smile faded and her eyes flicked up to my hair. ‘Of course you are.' She pointed to the end of the hallway, where a door opened to a staircase. ‘Second floor, last room on the right.'

‘Thanks,' I said. I wanted to ask what her problem was, but decided against it. I probably didn't want to know. I had one of those reputations that you couldn't kill, even if you cut its head off and stuffed the mouth with garlic.