Lies Ripped Open (6 page)

“What does this mean?” I asked, gaining the immediate attention of Alan as he found two more drawings in the pile he was checking through.

“Each of these was drawn at a different murder scene,” Diana told us. “There are eight in all, going back six months.”

“There are only five Ripper killings,” Alan stated.

“Officially, yes. But our people inside the investigation believe there were several more. And now two SOA agents.” Diana removed a folded piece of paper from her pocket and passed it to me. I opened it to see a drawing of an identical rune. “It was found drawn on the alley wall near where you were attacked.”

“It’s identical to the others,” I said, mostly to myself. “What the hell is this rune?”

Diana glanced at Alan. “Can you give us a second?”

“You don’t trust me?”

Diana shook her head. “Not even slightly.”

Alan laughed, but didn’t complain and dumped the files back into the box, dropping it to the floor with exaggerated finesse, before leaving Diana and me alone.

“You might want to work with him, but I don’t trust him,” Diana said when she saw the expression on my face.

“I don’t trust him, but I also don’t want to alienate him. If it comes down to needing his help, I don’t want to wonder if he’s going to put a knife in my back so he can make his escape.”

“Well, he doesn’t need to know this, anyway. In fact, I’m not sure if Brutus would be happy with you knowing.”

“Spit it out, Diana.”

“That rune is dwarven. One of the original twenty-one that they created.”

I absorbed the information as if swirling an aged Scotch slowly around my mouth, assimilating every aspect of it before digesting it. The original dwarven runes were thought long lost in the annals of time, something I was fully aware that
Merlin
wanted to ensure. They were powerful in a way that made
normal
runes, even those created by an exceptionally powerful enchanter or sorcerer, look like something used by children. I’d met very few people who knew any of the dwarven runes, and even fewer who thought that using them was remotely close to a good idea.

“What does it do?” I asked, hoping for, but knowing I wasn’t going to get, good news.

“It takes someone’s soul and captures it, placing it inside an item of the rune wielder’s choosing.”

“That sounds complicated. Why not just use a necromancer? He could have torn the soul out and put it in something. I’ve seen Hades do it.”

“Yes, but there are two problems with that. Firstly, they would need a very powerful necromancer, and secondly, the condition of the soul in question. This rune will ensure that the soul is always put inside the vessel in an undamaged condition. It’s painted near the body, but not on it. The rune draws the soul from the body and then it’s absorbed by the vessel. No matter how badly damaged the body is, the soul always remains intact. That doesn’t happen with necromancy.”

She had a valid point. A necromancer could remove a soul and place it in a container, but any damage done to the victim would be reflected in damage to the soul in a serious way. The soul would be tainted. Being able to ensure the soul was in one piece meant they were taking the souls to use in some way.

“So they’re killing these people in such a horrific manner, knowing their souls will still be usable. That means they’re hurting them for fun. It also means someone is using these souls for something.” Even I had to admit my theory was vague.

Diana nodded. “You can see why Brutus wants it kept quiet that someone is running around the city butchering women and using an old dwarven rune to capture their souls. People are scared. There are more murders than this Jack the
Ripper
; bodies found in the Thames with pieces missing, people
bludgeoned
to death for no apparent motive. We don’t need to create mo
re fear.”

“But we need to find out who’s killing these people, why, and what they’re doing with the souls they take.”

“There’s more. Brutus’s investigation has shown that at least three people are carrying out these murders. One calls himself Jack, we’ve had several letters from him, taunting the police. None have been released. He mentioned that he and his
lads
will continue to do their work.”

“Could just be bluster.” Even as I said it, I doubted very much that the man who’d written
From Hell
on my forehead did anything for
bluster
.

“Possibly, but then there’s one of the bodies.” Diana got up and flicked through the pile of paper in the box on the floor, passing me a document.

As I read it, my head began to hurt and I wished I’d never come to London in the first place. It stated that while several of the marks on the victim—a twenty-two-year-old woman, who hadn’t been linked to the Ripper killings—were clearly from a small-bladed knife, there was one mark that appeared to be
similar
to the bite of a lion. It had been delivered after the death of the victim. The coroner had served overseas in Africa and had seen several people inflicted with such bites.

“Werelion,” I said after finishing the document and passing it back to Diana. “So we have a sorcerer and a werelion. And the third killer would be?”

“We don’t know. One of the three could well be Jack
himself
. But one witness, a policeman out on his beat, said he saw a hooded man attacking a young prostitute. When confronted, the man turned to the policeman and hit him in the chest with a blast of water. Possibly an elemental or another sorcerer. The rune was drawn on the wall behind the victim’s head. They’d gone down a nearby alley to, we assume, carry out a transaction.”

“At least three then,” Alan said as he re-entered the room. “Probably.”

Diana opened her mouth to speak.

“Don’t look so shocked and angry; listening in on other
people’s
conversations is part of my job.” Alan turned to me. “Three vicious murderers who are killing in a horrific way for fun, and then tearing the souls away from the dead and placing them in some sort of container. That about sum it up?”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s just a massive kick to the bollocks. So, any idea where we go to first?”

I nodded again. “I might know someone in the city who could help us.”

“How?” Diana asked.

“He’s got knowledge of the Reavers, he might be able to point us in the right direction, or at the very least tell us why some of these people are doing this.”

“There’s a downside, isn’t there?” Alan asked. “There’s always a downside.”

“Yeah, the downside is he isn’t the most friendly of people and he’s a little paranoid about members of Avalon trying to kill him.”

“Why?” Diana asked, probably already knowing the answer.

“Because members of Avalon regularly try to kill him. He’s a wanted man. He tried to kill some people he shouldn’t have, an act that Avalon declared treasonous.”

“So, how is he going to be of help to us?” Diana asked.

“Because he was one of the founding members of the
Reavers
. And he owes me a favor or two.”

“Why?” Diana and Alan asked together.

“Well, when I say someone went to kill him, I meant me. I was the one sent to kill him.”

CHAPTER
6

November 1888. London.

T
his doesn’t strike me as being the best idea anyone has ever had,” Diana mentioned as our carriage pulled up outside the gates of an old mansion that from the outside appeared to have had better times. Diana had contacted someone, who supplied a driver.

The ride to our destination in South London had taken just over an hour to complete, and as the sun had begun to rise, more and more people either left home to go to work, or arrived at home after being out all night.

“This park is called The Grove,” I told Diana and Alan, motioning to our surroundings.

“I’ve been here before,” Diana said. “I don’t know anyone who goes here willingly though.”

“I thought Brutus ruled London,” Alan said with just enough condescension to annoy, but not enough to be turned to paste as he sat beside Diana.

“Brutus does,” Diana snapped. “But he’s named this off limits to pretty much everyone. He says it’s because he’s made a deal with the people who live here that they can keep the place to themselves.”

Alan looked out of the dark windows, as rain began to beat against the roof of the carriage. “And your friend lives here?” he asked me.

“I wouldn’t call him a friend,” I admitted. “He’s more of a. . . .” I paused. I wasn’t exactly sure how to categorize him. “He used to be my trainer when I first started working for Avalon. He’s an old soldier who deserved better than the bullshit Merlin allowed Avalon to pile onto him.”

“So he’s not a traitor?” Alan asked.

“If he’s a traitor then something bad must have happened.”

“But Avalon sent you to kill him,” Diana pointed out.

“That they did. It’s why he lives in London now, under
Brutus’s
protection. Officially I was unable to complete my task. Merlin wasn’t best pleased.”

“There are things out there in the trees,” Alan said, finally looking back from the window. “What the hell is running around this park?”

“There’s a clan of wood trolls who live in the park. Felix Novius is someone who inspired a lot of loyalty in a lot of people. Even after his exile from Avalon.”

I pushed open the carriage door and stepped out into the rain, pulling the collar of my long coat up to stay as dry as possible, as the rain fell at unrelenting speed.

“Wait in the carriage,” I told Diana and Alan, neither of whom seemed inclined to argue that they wanted to come out and get drenched.

I felt a twinge of guilt for the carriage driver sitting in the pouring rain and scanned the surroundings, my gaze flicking back and forth every few seconds when something else caught my eye in the woodland not too far from where I stood. The driver glanced down at me, although I could barely see his face due to the shadows that covered it. He dropped to the increasingly soggy ground and gave some food to the two horses.

“I won’t be long,” I told him, but he didn’t appear to care one way or the other.

I walked up to the massive iron gates, which barred the entrance to the property. They were attached to a ten-foot-high stone wall. It was all very imposing and certainly gave the impression that whoever was behind it didn’t wish to be bothered in an
y way.

I pushed open the gate, which made a noise that made the inside of my brain hurt, accompanied by the exact same noise when the gate sprung closed after I’d taken a few steps.

The garden was overgrown, but the grass and plant life didn’t impede anyone walking toward the house. The vines that ran up over the front wall of the house moved in such a way as to suggest they were meant to go there; they gave the appearance of being messy and uncared for while being the exact opposite.

I reached the large oak door and used the brass knocker to announce my presence. After a few seconds, I found that the door was unlocked and pushed it open, stepping into the dark mansion. The foyer was lit by only a few gas lanterns that sat on either side of an ornate staircase that ascended up to a small platform before splitting off to go in two different directions to the floor above.

“Why are you here?” a voice boomed from the darkness beyond.

“Felix, it’s Nathan Garrett. Cut the theatrical bullshit. If we were a threat your troll friends would already have torn us to pieces.”

There was a moment of quiet, followed by the sound of footsteps making their way toward me. It didn’t take long for Felix to come into view, walking down the stairs as the lights flickered to life.

The entire mansion would have made most museum curators blush with envy—it was full of old paintings, ancient pieces of art, and furniture that actually seemed to look better as it got older. There was no dust, or anything to suggest that the interior wasn’t kept as immaculate as the exterior. It would have taken a lot of effort. Sometimes giving the impression that you want to be left alone is more work than actually
making
people leave you alone.

“You promised you’d never be back,” Felix said as he strolled toward me.

“Sorry, needs must,” I explained.

Felix Novius was old enough that he saw the Romans move from small beginnings all the way to controlling a large portion of Europe, Asia, and Africa. And then watched it all crumble down to nothing not that long after. He had long white hair, but was clean-shaven. He wore a dark suit more appropriate for fine
dining
than sitting all alone in an empty house. He’d long ago lost his Roman accent and had replaced it with a nondescript English one.

“They’d better be some damn good needs, boy,” he snapped. “Last I heard you still work for Merlin, and he still wants me dead.”

I bristled at the use of the word
boy
. Felix was fully aware of how the word annoyed me, but never did seem to care enough to not use it. “We’ve got a lot of dead bodies in the city with ties to the Reavers.”

“You mean the Reavers are murdering citizens of this city? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“You’ve heard of Jack the Ripper, I assume.”

The shock on Felix’s face was easy to see. “You’d best tell your friends to come in then.”

“
Are you sure you trust him?” Alan asked as we followed Felix through his mansion to the rear of the property.

“More than you,” I pointed out.

“You still don’t trust me, Nathan?” Alan asked with a grin. “I’m hurt. Wounded. My heart cleaved from my chest and tossed aside like—”

“Do you ever shut the hell up?” Felix snapped without turning back to us.

“Old man, I’ve had a shit few days,” Alan said, an edge of anger in his voice. “I might take shit from Nathan here, because I actually understand why he doesn’t like me. And I may take a whole lot of things from the very beautiful Diana, but I’m damned if I’ll have some old fossil tell me what to do.”

Felix stopped and turned back to us. Alan tensed for a fight and I could see Diana getting ready to break them up. Felix walked toward Alan until they were only a few feet away from one another. “I like you,” he said and laughed as he resumed walking.

“Is he touched in the head?” Alan whispered.

I shrugged. To be honest I wasn’t entirely sure anymore.

Eventually we made it to a large library, the shelves completely overfilled with books. A desk and a red leather armchair sat in one corner, piles of paper and books atop the desk.

“You’re probably wanting to know who the Reavers are?”

“Already know that,” Alan pointed out. “Nathan here gave us the information. People who didn’t pass the Harbinger tests and all that.”

“I bet you don’t know what they were formed to do,” Felix said, and all three of us shook our heads. Felix pointed to an old couch, which had clearly seen better days. “Sit, I’ll explain.”

We all sat while Felix uncorked a bottle of Scotch and removed
four glasses from one of the drawers on his desk,
passing
each of us a drink.

“Not for me,” Alan said. “Don’t touch the stuff.”

“Then hold the glass and at least try to look like a man with his own set of balls,” Felix said, much to Diana’s
amusement
.

Alan knocked back the drink on one go. “I don’t like the stuff, didn’t say I can’t drink it.”

Felix laughed and poured Alan a much larger, second drink.

“You both done?” I asked.

Felix knocked back his own drink before turning to me. “You of all people should be in no hurry to find out more about the Reavers.”

“Why?” I asked, genuinely confused.

“I’ll explain in a minute. First, you need to know that the Reavers’ soul mission is to keep Arthur alive.”

“Wait,” Alan said. “How do you know these people? I mean, this could all just be some made-up fantasy you’ve been living in your head.”

“I was one of the founding members,” Felix told us all and promptly knocked back a second Scotch.

“Please go on,” Diana told him, glaring slightly at Alan.

Felix nodded graciously. “As Nathan will tell you, I used to work for Merlin. What he doesn’t know is that I was responsible for the Harbinger training program. It was my job to ens
ure th
at everyone who came into the program made it to the end. Tha
t w
as through either passing or failing the experience, and in some cases, not living through it.”

It was common knowledge that anyone who decided to try and become a Harbinger didn’t take the decision lightly. I’d known several people who hadn’t passed its difficult tests and more than one of them who hadn’t come back at all.

“As you probably know,” Felix continued, “the Reavers were created to allow those who failed the tests to still be of great use to Avalon. They were still highly trained and, for the most part, a group of people who wished to do good. They had one job. To harvest souls for Merlin to feed to Arthur.”

Diana and Alan glanced at me. I could feel both of them wanting to ask if I knew.

“No,” I said softly. “I had no idea.”

“Nor should you have,” Felix said. “Merlin wasn’t exactly thrilled that the souls of the slain were helping to keep Arthur alive, and that they were much more effective than his own magic.”

“How did it work?” Diana asked, as I sat dumbstruck.

I’d been in the room with Arthur a hundred times, seen him floating in that
glass coffin
, his body encased in magically enhanced water. I’d seen Merlin feeding his own magic into the coffin, giving Arthur his power to sustain him. I’d helped Merlin break away, weak and exhausted from continuous magic use. My anger boiled over and I stood, kicking a book across the room and into a pile, which spilled over the floor.

“Feel better?” Felix asked.

“How did it work?” I asked, repeating Diana’s words. “How do the souls help Arthur? I saw Merlin use his own energy to sustain him.”

“The souls only ensure that Arthur’s body remains alive.
Merlin’s
magic is what keeps him active. Without Merlin’s magic, he’d go insane.”

I almost crashed back to the ground. “Arthur is conscious?”

Felix shook his head. “He’s in a state of deep sleep. From what Merlin told me, Arthur’s brain is unable to wake him. He can’t communicate with anyone. One day in every seven, Merlin must spend at his side. Any more than that and it would burn him out. That’s where the paladins come into it.”

The paladins were people who surrounded Arthur day and night. Twelve heavily armed men and women who stood guard over their fallen king, waiting for the day he awakes.

“Originally the paladins fed him too,” Felix said. “Each of them was linked to Arthur every day. It’s why there are over a hundred of them. They had to rotate every week so they didn’t all burn out and die.”

“And the souls?” Diana asked.

“A few hundred years ago, Merlin discovered that the soul of a being was much more powerful than having the paladins constantly feeding Arthur. A soul would sustain Arthur for years, with minimal input from the paladins. So Merlin changed things. He fed the soul of the deceased to Arthur and had the
paladins he
lp feed the magic inside his coffin instead. It meant that Arthur had more people giving him stimulation and hopefully a larger chance to wake up.

“Souls were easy to come by. There are no shortages of enemies of Avalon, and mostly the Reavers just waited about until those enemies came to them. There’s always someone in Avalon who has a price on his, or her, head. They’d take the souls and Merlin would ensure that they were fed to Arthur.”

“Does it work?” Alan asked.

“Arthur’s vitals appear to be stronger, but there’s no change in anything you can see. Merlin seems certain that what they’re doing is working.”

“And at what point did they go from taking the souls of enemies to murdering women in the street?” I asked.

“Merlin. Merlin’s what changed things.”

“In what way?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

“It was his plan to have the Reavers take souls in the first place. His plan to feed them to Arthur. And now it’s his plan to take the souls of
innocent people
and feed them to Arthur. Merlin’s the one who sent the Reavers to London.”