Chosen (9781742844657) (31 page)

A strong sense of calm flooded the lobby, and the patrons went back to their conversations and magazines. Qasim felt himself relaxing, too, and started to release his hold on the energy he'd been drawing to himself in preparation for a fight that would not be.

Lisandro smiled at them all and it was like no time had passed. He looked as he had when they'd all been friends. His bronze-brown eyes were sparkling and friendly. Perhaps things were not as awful as Qasim had assumed. Perhaps this really
was
a misunderstanding.

Renatus elbowed him sharply as he passed, and the resultant second of irritation was enough to snap the contentment. Qasim immediately felt clearer and more alert, and stepped forward as Renatus advanced.

‘Ah, Renatus,' Lisandro said cheerfully, ‘it'll feel odd buying you alcohol but I do suppose you're old enough now. What'll it be?'

‘It would be a whiskey with someone – anyone – else,' Renatus answered coldly. ‘Step outside with us.'

‘Bring your drink if you like,' Qasim added when Lisandro wrapped his fingers more tightly around his glass.

‘Step outside?' Lisandro asked slowly, innocently, putting his glass down. ‘Whatever for?'

‘Lisandro, we're here to bring you in,' Lord Gawain said, and Lisandro's gaze slowly slid over the four councillors to rest on the leader. ‘It would be in your best interests to come quietly.'

The bronze-brown eyes narrowed momentarily, and Qasim knew that look of passive defiance. Coming tonight had been a bad idea, like Renatus had said. He felt along the telepathic circle of minds that made up the White Elm, gauging the ability of each member to get here quickly if this situation got out of hand. Every one of them was totally focussed on these events, trying to interpret images, thoughts and understandings from this exchange from the minds of those present. Qasim tried to keep his mind quiet and organised to help them read his thoughts more clearly.

‘In
your
best interests, I think,' Lisandro corrected, still eyeing Lord Gawain. ‘And as my very least favourite person in the world, I'm afraid I feel particularly loath to do anything that would serve your best interests.' He left the silence hanging and moved his attention back along the line of former friends. He smiled warmly at Susannah. ‘
Your
best interests, however, are still near my heart – never once did
you
betray me like our dear Lord did.'

‘Save it, please,' Susannah answered without emotion. ‘We both know that whatever care we shared for each other is long dead.'

‘Alright, perhaps that's true, but your interests still trump Gawain's if it ever comes down to it. Those many takeaway coffees you bought me won't be forgotten.'

‘We cremated Peter this morning,' Susannah said. ‘So my memories of coffee-drinking with you seem slightly less pleasant tonight. Did you drink takeaway coffees with Peter in the old days, too?'

‘Ah, yes, I did drink coffees with dear Peter,' Lisandro agreed. ‘Rest his soul. I suppose you think me traitorous and nasty and all that for what's become his fate? Entitled to your own opinion, of course – though you'd hardly think anything of it if only you knew how Gawain had first betrayed
me
, and how Peter exacerbated that betrayal.'

‘It's a bit rich of
you
to talk about betrayal, isn't it?' Qasim asked. ‘Considering.'

‘Yes, considering,' Renatus agreed, harshly. Lisandro looked between the two scriers and sat back on his stool, resting against the bar.

Qasim felt a twitch at the edge of his consciousness. Emmanuelle? Was she here, too? Things could get very messy if she turned up and tried to use that ring before she knew how.

‘Considering I walked out on your beloved council, Qasim, and forced you to vote this runt into my old chair?' he asked. Qasim kept his expression firm but felt surprise. ‘Yes, I know Renatus is Dark Keeper. Shocking, yes.' He turned to smile at his successor. ‘How do you like my old job? Are they keeping you busy? Or does Gawain just like keeping his favourite baby boy close to watch you?' He winked cheekily. ‘You know, the naughty way?'

Renatus closed the remaining distance between them in an instant and knocked Lisandro's glass from his grip. It shattered on the bar noisily.

‘Watch your words,' he snarled, a warning finger pointed in Lisandro's face. Qasim looked around but nobody seemed to have noticed the broken glass or the altercation between the two men.

Distantly, he felt another twitch. It was Emmanuelle trying to reach him, but she wasn't here. She was at the house. Something was wrong.

‘Such loyalty,' Lisandro said smoothly, clearly unafraid and unthreatened by Renatus's show of aggression. ‘That's the Morrissey in you. I wonder how far it stretches. Your father had a limit – if only I were able to detail to you the dark depths of Gawain's betrayal of me.' 

‘What betrayal? ‘ Lord Gawain demanded, frustrated. ‘It was you who turned his back on our friendship and the council, not me.'

Qasim felt no curiosity regarding this supposed betrayal of Lord Gawain's. Lisandro was twisted by years of dabbling in the darkness; anything the frustratingly passive and harmless leader had done to upset the Crafter had doubtless been a true and honest act that Lisandro had taken offence to.

He heard Emmanuelle's voice in his head.

This is a distraction. Someone's at my place. My wards are coming down
.

Emmanuelle's wards were among the best in the world and her home was coated in them. They were not infallible but they were challenging to dissect. Furthermore, because of the nature of many of those spells, in order to pull them down, one first had to know they, and the home, were there, and that description only applied to the select few she'd invited inside. The city apartment went unnoticed by thousands of passersby every single day – only someone she knew could see it.

Qasim thought of the Parisian home and directed his mind to view it as it was.

He only saw black. The whole street was invisible to him.

That meant that someone was there, and that person had blocked his energy from Qasim's sight. How many people in the world knew and hated him enough to do that?

Just two…and if one was here, suddenly and conveniently unblocked, that meant that Jackson was at Emmanuelle's home, tearing her wards and possessions apart in search of the Elm Stone Qasim hoped she'd never be stupid enough to leave lying around. He frantically tried to recall whether she'd been home today, whether there was a chance she'd taken it home and left it there…

‘We were friends and
you
are the one who chose to end it,' Lord Gawain finished.

‘That's your opinion, and you're entitled to it,' Lisandro replied diplomatically, folding his hands in his lap. He ignored Renatus, seething beside him. ‘Your opinion is wrong, of course, but I won't fault you for that. I fault you for enough as it is.'

Lord Gawain opened his mouth to respond but Qasim interrupted.

‘That's enough,' he said roughly, shouldering past Susannah to reach for Lisandro. This whole situation was by the Crafter's design – he'd drawn them there, he'd orchestrated the conversation and he'd kept the attention of all thirteen White Elm on this place. None of this was within their control unless they took it. ‘Let's get him out of here.'

‘I think not,' Lisandro disagreed, slipping from the barstool. Qasim's hand closed on air. ‘Tonight just isn't your night.'

Susannah and Lord Gawain backed up to give Qasim and Renatus space to make their arrest.  Lisandro stayed near the bar, watching his adversaries closely.

‘Don't make this difficult,' Qasim warned, flanking Renatus as they closed in. This was it. This was what they'd kept Renatus for – to take down his predecessor. It might be now or never. Lisandro smiled and shook his head.

‘Hardly fun if it's too easy, is it?'

Now
.

The time to take Lisandro was now. Qasim waited for Renatus's move. It could be anything – light magic or dark, old or new, conventional or unique – so Qasim just needed to be ready to back him up or get out of the way.

Now
.

Nothing happened. Renatus stayed where he was, tense but unmoving. He was not taking Lisandro in. The nightmare was real. Renatus was not acting, whether because he was still loyal to Lisandro or out of fear. It didn't matter why. Emmanuelle's voice was still in Qasim's head –
My wards are coming down. Someone's inside
– and something had to be done.

What they're looking for, is it with you
? he asked Emmanuelle, and when he got her indignant agreement he added,
Do not leave the estate. Stay exactly where you are
.

Qasim stepped forward, drawing power to his body and preparing a stun spell. He'd only have to grasp Lisandro's arm and the magic would move to attack his nerves. Surprisingly, Lisandro moved to meet him.

Channelling the energy along his arms, Qasim opened his hands to release the magic as a spell. In that millisecond he saw Lisandro's palm open, too, and saw the sparkle of blackness. Lisandro threw it.

Renatus shoved Qasim aside and he felt his fingertips graze the young scrier's wrist. The Dark Keeper stumbled, temporarily paralysed, and caught the bar – for a second Qasim was glad to have hurt him for interfering – but that ball of sparkling black energy in Lisandro's hand now missed Qasim by only inches and blasted a fiery hole in the polished floor.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Lisandro had meant that to strike Qasim. It would have put a hole right through him. The Crafter smirked.

‘Are we having fun yet?'

A second ball of crackling black magic began to grow in Lisandro's open hand before Qasim had a chance to build any substantial wards. Nearby and shaking very slightly from the recent attack on his nervous system, Renatus seemed to be recovering. Perhaps now he would want to do something about taking Lisandro in.

‘Lisandro, this is stupid,' Susannah snapped, hands out and at the ready.

‘I agree,' the Crafter said seriously. ‘There's only one person here I really want to see hurt.'

Too quick, he tossed the ball of black lightning at Lord Gawain. Qasim felt his breath catch as he followed the spell with his eyes.
No
.

The ball flew at the old Seer's chest but stopped just short, all motion lost, frozen in space.

Qasim spun on his heel, sure this had to be some surprise power of Renatus's – there were so many of those. The Dark Keeper had a dagger across Lisandro's throat and both stood very still.

‘I suppose you think killing me would be like winning, huh?' the Crafter asked softly. ‘You think it'll make the past go away?'

‘Shut your face,' Renatus hissed, ‘and drop it.'

‘When you cut your name loose, did you have Gawain adopt you or something?' Lisandro asked, frowning. ‘You don't owe him anything – you don't owe him your life. He's not your father. Your father was twice the man-'

‘Drop it!'

‘Let me go and Papa Gawain goes hole-free, too,' Lisandro bargained. Renatus thrust the blade closer, cutting skin. ‘You have my word.'

‘Your
word
doesn't mean a whole lot to me these days.'

This was what Qasim had been waiting for. Finally, Renatus's lifelong hatred of Lisandro was coming in handy.

‘Well, how about a bet then? I bet I can put a hole through Lord Gawain's heart quicker than you can pull that knife across my neck. You in?'

Keeping the blade tight against the enemy windpipe, Renatus grabbed Lisandro's shirt collar and pulled him over to where Lord Gawain still stood, wide-eyed. Careful not to touch the floating ball of black lightning, he elbowed the old man back. The ball did not follow but waited in place, mirroring Lisandro's own curiosity. Renatus positioned himself in its path and Lisandro, pinned to his successor's side, seemed to shrink. His expression closed off; this was not something he'd expected or wanted. Lord Gawain was still in the spell's path, but to kill the Lord the spell had to first pass through Renatus and Lisandro himself.

‘I'm in,' Renatus agreed coldly. ‘So do it.'

Qasim watched as Lisandro stared back at Renatus with a calculating look.

‘Get out of here,' Renatus said, releasing Lisandro's collar but keeping the dagger against his throat.

‘Well played,' Lisandro admitted. Behind his back, the black magic crackled into nothingness. ‘Until next time.'

He disappeared, and later, a contented waitress would spot that blackened hole in the floor and wonder whether it had anything to do with the odd crowd that had left through the fire exit.

Friday was mostly uneventful. I had two classes, both of which were with Sterling, who, by dinnertime, had well and truly driven me insane with her begging.

‘You're so lucky,' she said for the eightieth time as we ate our pasta. ‘You have to tell me
everything
.'