Chaos Broken (2 page)

Crowhurst loitered, obviously thinking I wanted him to stay. Like I couldn't bust balls on my own.

I served up a stern frown, channelling my inner Gideon. ‘What in hellfires is wrong with you two? What if a client had walked in and seen this pathetic excuse for professionalism?'

Grubber scowled. ‘He insulted my wife.'

‘What'd he say?' I asked

‘He said my wife is so fat, I'd have to roll twice to get off her.'

Bone rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I meant it nicely. She's just a lot of woman.'

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. I was at a loss as to how to proceed, but when in doubt, I knew to start yelling at someone. I fixed Bone with a glare and raised my voice. ‘What's wrong with you, making jokes about a co-worker's wife?'

‘You know she's sensitive about her weight,' Grubber muttered.

‘Easy now.' Crowhurst stepped forward, hands raised. ‘I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding. I'm sure she's a real lovely woman.'

‘You making fun?' Grubber bristled at him. ‘You got something to say about my wife as well?'

‘Nobody wants to crack any more jokes about your wife,' I told Grubber. ‘And this isn't the place for you two to be fighting and breaking furniture.' I stabbed a finger at Grubber. ‘Don't be so sensitive.' My finger shifted to Bone. ‘And you…keep your opinions to yourself. Now, both of you get the hell out of my sight.'

Grubber and Bone scowled at me, but I just planted my hands on my hips and glowered back. Just because they looked tough didn't mean I couldn't plant my velvet brocade boots between their legs and fell them like trees. Plus, right now I paid the bills and that pretty much ensured I got my way. Grubber and Bone righted the chairs and shuffled out of the courtyard, glaring at each other. Crowhurst bought his hands together in a slow clap.

‘Well done, boss. Saying things like you mean it. You'll have this place ship-shape before Gideon gets back, no problems.'

‘Yeah, yeah,' I sighed. ‘Except the best job we have on the books is searching for my old headmistress's missing cat.'

‘You mean, her
pussy
?' Crowhurst shook his head. ‘I nearly swallowed my tongue when you asked who'd want to do it mischief. You shouldn't make fun of our clients.'

I snorted. ‘She did bring out the juvenile in me. But if we don't pick up some jobs soon, Gideon will be coming back to a bankrupt company. Maybe I should turn this place into a bar and dice joint.'

‘You'd just drink and gamble the profits away,' Crowhurst pointed out. ‘Maybe you should write and let Gideon know how bad things have gotten.'

‘No way.' I righted a chair and sat down. My bad leg ached from the sudden rush downstairs and I ran a practised hand over the knotted muscles. A horse accident at sixteen had put me in a hospital with a fractured pelvis and cracked spine. My recovery had been long and painful, leaving me with a limp and an incurable fear of horses.

‘I can handle this,' I said. ‘I told Gideon I'd pick up new work after losing the Order contract and I can't let him down.'

Crowhurst folded his arms and gave me a slightly bemused smile. ‘You mind telling me how you lost the contract, exactly? You never did tell anyone, and Gideon wouldn't say.'

‘It happened. Let's leave it at that. But it really wasn't my fault.'

‘I heard it was because you slept with a Grigori priest.'

‘Ewww.' I make a gagging noise. ‘Really?'

‘Did it have anything to do with that big fire they had in their library?'

‘Just let it go,' I snapped.

‘Whatever you say, boss.'

Tension rode up my neck and I rubbed it with a groan. ‘I really screwed things up.'

‘I'm sure you tried your hardest.'

I didn't answer, because a small part of me wondered if I really did try hard enough. The fire had been an accident, but it had also been in a long list of infractions I'd committed while contracting with the Order. Fraternising with darkcraft users. Not adhering to the dress code. Illegal consumption of alcohol while on duty. Sacrilegious games of dice with the cooks inside the Order compound. The list was crowded. It had been a busy three weeks and I probably hadn't been that rebellious since I was at school. Gideon had always said I had a problem with authority. Fortunately, his own vices were worse than mine, so we always got along just fine.

Crowhurst cleared his throat. I realised he was working up to saying something, but he looked worried about how I'd react.

‘What is it?' I asked. ‘If you've got an idea, spit it out.'

He scratched his close cropped beard. ‘Someone approached me with a proposition. Initially I told them there was no way you'd be interested.' He shrugged. ‘But now, seeing as we've got our backs to the wall, maybe you'll consider it.'

‘What kind of proposition and from who?' I eyed him suspiciously.

‘From whom,' Crowhurst corrected absently. ‘And let me get more details. Make sure the money's worth it.'

‘Sounds like something I don't want to know about.' I rolled my shoulders, trying to disperse my building tension. ‘So when you want to talk about it, bring beer to cushion the blow.'

In the distance, the city clock rang out to announce mid-afternoon and I knew had to get moving if I wanted to reach my destination in the Outlands that night. It wasn't a paying job, but rather a chance to see Roman, an exiled nephilim warrior I was sort of involved with. Sort of. Gideon and Orella hadn't been happy with my role in sneaking Roman to the Outlands, where he could recover from the madness some nephilim were cursed with. They were equally displeased with me shooting out every chance I got to see him.

‘I've got to go,' I told Crowhurst. ‘I have that meeting tonight I told you about.'

His face darkened. ‘I should go with you.'

‘I don't need a babysitter, thanks,' I said. ‘And I wouldn't go if it wasn't important.'

Crowhurst made a disgusted sound. ‘Meeting up with your ex-Regulator lover boy isn't more important than sticking around to keep Blackgoat running.'

‘I'll only be gone the night. And it's not just to see Roman. There's an important sit-down happening and I was asked to attend.'

‘What kind of important sit-down?' Crowhurst asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

I threw my hands up. ‘Just relax, will you? I told you, I'll be back here tomorrow morning, bright and early to look for this freaking cat.'

‘Fine. But if you're not here, I'm coming to get you.'

‘I can take care of myself.' I stood and grabbed my cane. ‘I'm not kidding. And this job you mentioned? By all means, look into it. I'm desperate enough to try anything.'

A sly look slid over Crowhurst's face. ‘I won't forget you said that.'

I hired a car from the Merry Widow Rental Yard just outside the city walls. The cars had been towed here from the Outlands and their motors replaced with clockwork engines, and while they could run just as fast as modern cars, it was almost a week's wait for a Weald repair truck if you broke down in the Outlands.

I paid my fare at the boom gates the bear-men used to guard the connective tissue between The Weald and the Outlands and drove on in peace and quiet, country fields passing me by. When I finally passed over the border of The Weald, the sensation was like a veil fluttering through my mind, a small pull on my thoughts. Soon I was travelling down a winding, tree-lined road, and the moon was in a different position in the sky. The radio crackled to life and a heavy metal song started up.

The winding dirt turned into a paved road and soon trucks whizzed by at high speed, shaking my little car. A full moon hung low in the sky and the dashboard clock told me I had an hour to get to my destination of Darling Point, East Sydney.

I checked the map I'd been given by Casper, after I had got lost last time trying to find his new digs. Casper was the first nephilim I'd met in the Outlands. He had been introduced to me by Seth Hallow, a former lover and total scumbag. Through our common love of movies, Casper and I had become friends.

Satisfied I was on the right path, I cranked up the metal song and tried to ignore my nerves about the meeting tonight. If I was honest though, my nervousness was about seeing Roman again. Things between us had been…complicated. I had feelings for him and if I was honest, they scared me. I'd had lovers in the past, but they'd never been serious. Just someone to pass the time with.

Then, of course, there had been Seth. Sex with him had been mind-blowing, though the way he disappeared from my life for months on end had sometimes driven me insane. I'd always swear off him, but then he'd turn up again and my body always ended up betraying me, craving him like a drug. Now, after Seth had proven himself to be a man with too many names and faces for my comfort, I'd found Roman. A good, strong, honest man. Well, nephilim. Half-man, half-angel and all shades of sexy. He'd confessed his love to me, which felt like a shiny, bright offering that I didn't deserve.

Last year, we'd both been at the mercy of a bloodthirsty merchant and alchemy enthusiast, who'd injected Roman with a mixture of my blood and a powerful elixir to see what would happen. But instead of turning Roman into a monster, he'd becoming something else; a mutation occurred to his body that shocked everyone, including me. Despite this change, my feelings held strong for him, but I worried that I wasn't the kind of woman he needed by his side. Roman's moral compass was steadfast and pure, while I suspected mine had a defect.

Situated on a large, secluded plot in the eastern suburbs, the sprawling, two-story home Casper had purchased was set back from the main road on a secure gated drive. I had visited a bunch of times after Roman had recovered from the onset of the berserker rage some nephilim suffered, and each time more exiled nephilim had turned up, drawn by the tale of Roman, the nephilim with wings the colour of snow.

I was buzzed through the gates and parked next to a ragged line of dirty Harleys. Casper greeted me at the door, a tub of popcorn tucked under one arm. He was a huge nephilim, with bleached hair and a pitch-black beard. He wore a tight white t-shirt and leather pants, a thick wallet chain looping around to his back pocket.

‘You're late,' he said in a good-natured tone.

‘Nice to see you, too.'

Casper eyed my outfit. ‘What's under the coat? I hope it's something nice.'

‘What's it to you?'

‘This is a fancy place we're going to.'

I glanced down to my leather boots. ‘The shoes are vintage.'

Casper grunted. ‘Thought they looked ancient.'

‘Ha, ha. How I've missed your charm.' I grabbed a handful of popcorn. ‘Where exactly is this big meeting tonight?'

‘Like I said, somewhere fancy.'

I rolled my eyes. ‘Little more information, please?'

Casper tossed some popcorn into his mouth and chewed, forehead wrinkling. ‘A nightclub Gorath owns, south of the city. Will take about forty minutes to get there.'

‘And you still think this is a good idea to go to this meeting?' I asked.

‘Wasn't me who asked for the cosy sit-down with Gorath.'

‘Are you saying it was Roman who arranged to meet Captain Crazypants?' I asked. ‘I thought Gorath approached us.'

When I'd first met Casper, Gorath had interrupted our meeting by using magic to possess two innocent bystanders, who then attacked us. The fight had cost them their lives, a waitress her sanity, and Casper one of his favourite hang-outs. After we'd escaped, Casper had confirmed what I'd always feared: that someone with even an ounce of power was determined to bring about the prophecy of the Dreadwitch and the Howling King. This was a prophecy written in a grimoire called The Key of Aldebaran, predicting a battle between two magical creatures over the souls of man. The rest of the book contained chaos-magic spells that only the blood of a female nephilim could unlock. And that's what I just happened to be, causing people to assume I was this Dreadwitch.

Until recently, I'd worn a charm that had cloaked my nephilim nature. The charm's magics had turned my hair white and promoted odd happenings around me, such as my spells not working right and the ash tree at the front of my house growing monstrously large. After the charm broke, my nephilim nature had started to assert itself, with dark roots showing in my hair, refusing to budge no matter how much bleach I used. Eventually, I expected my hair would fully darken fully and my eyes turn jet-black like all nephilims. A bit of an adjustment, but I guessed I could cope.

Casper shook his head. ‘Captain Crazypants himself extended the invitation, with shiny promises of safe passage and everything. If Gorath wants peace, then I guess Roman wants to listen. We can't keep bickering over territory like we've been doing. Having the nephilim divided out here is no good for anyone. It makes us weak. If anyone can unite us, it will be Roman.'

I licked popcorn salt from my fingers. ‘You know it's a trap, right?'

‘That was my first thought. Gorath's a mean enough bastard to try it. I've been butting heads with him for nearly twenty years.' Casper hesitated. ‘But Roman thinks differently, so we're going.'

Sighing, I followed him into a lounge where a dozen nephilim were watching an old Bill Murray movie. Beyond the lounge was a break-out room with a pool table and more nephilim playing a game, talking softly among themselves. All refugees from The Weald, these nephilim were running from one sin or another. Some had fled after feeling the berserker rages descend, knowing madness was inevitable. By all accounts, the madness was confined to The Weald, and most nephilim recovered out here, beyond The Weald's hidden walls. Casper himself had been in the Outlands for over seventy years, running mercenary teams and setting up a global network of safehouses and a tight-knit nephilim community.