Chaos Bound Read online

  ‘I didn’t exactly plan for things to go this way, Lora.’ Seth sounded exasperated. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d ever want to embrace your heritage.’

  ‘How did you know?’ I asked stiffly. ‘How did you know what I was?’

  Seth took my hands in his, his touch warm and inviting, full of promise. ‘Sometimes, I see things in dreams. Premonitions, maybe. I saw you and a suggestion of what you were. Nothing specific, just that you were special. So I arranged for us to meet, and you intrigued me. In time, I learned just how special you were.’

  I ignored his gentle words, letting unasked questions burn in the air. Seth saw them in my eyes and his hands tightened. ‘I didn’t say anything about what you were because I wasn’t sure,’ he said. ‘You had the white hair of a Witch Hunter, so I thought I could be wrong about your bloodline.’

  ‘When did you know what I was? When were you sure?’ I asked.

  ‘Why does that matter?’

  I pulled away, raising a hand to touch the new concealment charm under my shirt. Probably a bad idea to even start on questions. ‘It matters.’

  Seth dropped a hand and stepped back. ‘You think I'm lying to you. About everything.’

  ‘That about sums it up.’

  He shot a hand through his hair and cursed under his breath. ‘You’re the only female nephilim that’s existed, Lora. Are you really not interested in the slightest about what you could accomplish?’

  I gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘Not as much as you are.’

  ‘You could achieve so many great things.’

  ‘With chaos magic? I talked about this hot-stuff power with Orella. You can’t control chaos magic. You know, hence the name “chaos”.’

  ‘You’re stronger than you think,’ Seth argued. ‘All you need to do is learn how to harness it. You wouldn’t have to do it alone. I could help you.’

  ‘Sing that tune for someone else.’ My knuckles went white around my cane. ‘I'm not buying.’

  ‘What about The Key of Aldebaran?’ Seth’s voice was suspiciously light.

  My eyes narrowed to slits. That rotten little book of spells was what had started this whole mess. Written by a mad warlock, its pages contained spells for powerful chaos magic, with a rambling prophecy that claimed the blood of a female angel would be the key to its spells. Catch was, female angels didn’t exist. The prophecy also apparently talked about a woman called the Dreadwitch, who would fight a creature called the Howling King. What this all meant for me? Well, technically, I had angel blood in me, so technically, my blood fuelled the spells. What else this meant for me? That zero fucks were given. My destiny included buying expensive shoes on sale, a full beer tankard, and a good game of dice.

  ‘What about the Aldebaran?’ I asked.

  Seth shrugged. ‘What happens when another madman gets a copy of it and realises your blood can unleash all sorts magics?’ He shook his head. ‘You know, I'd have thought you’d want to take charge of your destiny. Use this situation to your own advantage. Carve something out for yourself.’ He made a sharp, exasperated gesture. ‘Instead, you’re still working as a Runner for Blackgoat, as if nothing happened. A lowly mercenary for hire. Just waiting to get mixed up in the next disaster.’

  I flushed, feeling like a petulant child, unable or unwilling to control their own destiny. Didn’t quite match the strong, independent image I worked hard to project. I rubbed my eyes, exhausted. There’s only so much hard truth a girl likes to hear in one day.

  ‘We’re done here.’ I turned and began to walk away.

  ‘Wait.’ Seth touched my shoulder, stopping me. ‘I've found out something I thought you might be interested in.’

  Against my better judgement, I paused. ‘What?’

  ‘I know the location of a copy.’

  ‘Of the Aldebaran? Where?’ I instantly regretted giving away more than I'd wanted to reveal. After all, I thought my enquiries had been discrete enough. My plan was simple. Find all copies of that stupid book and burn them. No more grimoires containing chaos magic spells meant peaceful nights for me.

  Seth held a finger up. ‘I want to help you, but I want something in return.’

  Here it was. The catch. Of course he’d want payment; Seth’s services usually had a price, sooner or later.

  ‘I want a favour I can call on,’ he said.

  Suspicion blanketed my mind. ‘What kind of favour are we talking about? Wouldn’t you just prefer money?’

  ‘You couldn’t afford me.’ Seth gave a low, sexy laugh. One that I wasn’t falling for anymore. ‘Relax. I won’t ask for the world.’

  I rolled a shoulder, like I wasn’t bothered. ‘As long as it doesn’t involve me getting naked, I'm sure we can work out a deal. I agree to your terms.’

  Seth gave me a smug smile, eyes lingering on my mouth. ‘I'll set the meeting up and let you know the details. It will involve some travel.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘The Outlands, if you can believe it,’ he said.

  ‘Fine by me.’

  Seth walked back to his horse and untied the reins. ‘You want a lift?’

  I ignored the question and limped towards the city to the soundtrack of Seth’s laughter. He knew I hated horses; a horse riding accident as a child had left me half-lame. Since then, I preferred my transport with wheels, a driver and some privacy. My thoughts tumbled over each other. Whatever Seth’s intentions were towards me, one thing was certain: the bastard couldn’t be trusted.

  Chapter 3

  My old haunt, the Mermaid’s Cleft, had burned down during a recent fire. The blaze had started in Abraham’s Alley and swept through Applecross. Repairs had began in earnest soon after the fire was put out, though some efforts showed more enthusiasm than others. Here and there, hessian tarps covered roofs, with new timber criss-crossing old panels and bracing partially burnt-out structures; short-term measures that would, no doubt be there for years to come. I'd heard a rumour that the owner of the Cleft had seized the opportunity to set fire to the bar himself, thankful to be rid of the place.

  Growlers was the next best hangout, a dirty saloon where the city’s miscreants liked to drink and gamble their time away. I fit right in.

  Entering the bar, I kept a sharp eye out for Cloete. I figured we were going to share a beverage or two with a salute to the not-so-dearly departed. Searching the thin crowd, I spied her tucked in a back corner, sitting with three women who looked right at home among the rough wharf-rats and sailors. Two of the women were otherkin, while the third woman looked like a full-blood succubus.

  Cloete waved me over. I checked the room as I approached, keeping an eye open for anyone who might be up for a game later on. Cloete indicated I should sit next to her and then motioned the barmaid for a beer. ‘How are you, Lora?’

  Suspicious of her overly friendly tone, I grunted. I was trying to figure out what game Cloete was playing, because I was pretty sure I didn’t want to join in.

  ‘Let me introduce my sisters and my mother.’ Cloete indicated towards the two otherkin women at the table. ‘This is Melody and Chai.’

  Melody looked almost human up close, save for her eyes, ringed a brilliant red and yellow. She wore shredded jeans, leopard skin heels and a black boob tube. Her hair was a shock of pink, her skin pale alabaster. Her smile was friendly as she lifted a hand and we shook amicably.

  ‘Well met,’ she said. ‘We’ve all heard so much about you.’

  ‘Well met, Melody.’ I smiled, my polite-pants pulled tight.

  The second woman, Chai, looked like she’d been pounded with the ugly stick. Her nose was a short snout, with gnarled horns jutting from her forehead and ears that stuck out like jug handles. Her right knuckles were tattooed with letters that spelt out F-U-C-K while the other hand spelt Y-O-U. Her pinkie was missing and I hoped it hadn’t been to accommodate the tattoo.

  ‘Well met, Chai.’ I didn’t offer my hand. The way she was glaring at me, I wasn’t sure I'd get it back. Chai’s stare slid fro
m angry to furious when I didn’t look away.

  ‘What are you staring at, Witch Hunter?’ she snarled.

  I didn’t blink. ‘I'm not a Witch Hunter. I'm sure Cloete would have told you that.’ Witch Hunters were easily spotted by their shock of white hair, so I could understand the confusion, but no way did I want to be associated with those who hunted so-called heretics and trained in the art of church sanctioned magic.

  ‘Chai.’ The older woman spoke. Chai’s eyes dropped instantly to the table, shoulders hunching. ‘You’ll have to excuse my Chai, she doesn’t like meeting new people.’ The older woman’s voice was deep and sultry. She had a head of dreadlocks, with two sleek horns curling up from her temples. Small brass charms entwined her hair and chimed when she moved. A necklace of eye-teeth circled her neck and thick jade bracelets clasped her wrists.

  ‘Fuck this.’ Chai stood abruptly. My hands tightened around my cane as the otherkin stalked towards the door. Whatever this meeting was about, this wasn’t the best start. The older woman gave Melody a glance and the pink-haired woman excused herself to hurry after her sister.

  ‘Please forgive Chai. She’s had a difficult life,’ the older woman said. She offered her hand. ‘I am Maya Velkov, Cloete’s birthmother.’

  I flicked a surprised glance at Cloete, shaking Maya’s hand on automatic pilot, my head whirling. I recognised the name. Maya Velkov operated a Runner business on Adonis Avenue. I'd heard Velkov only hired women: an assortment of ex-street walkers, assassins, professional blackmailers and experienced charlatans. 'Sisters of No Mercy' was their street name, and they had a ruthless reputation.

  Velkov was also Gideon’s main rival in the Runner industry. While Gideon tried to use his position himself as a civic minded businessman to highlight the unfair second-class status of full-bloods and otherkin, Velkov let it be known she had no political leanings that mattered; only the colour of your money did.

  Until now, I'd never laid eyes on Velkov. Now she sat across from me, small fingers curled around mine. Her lips parted, showcasing a row of yellowed fangs, her eyes flinty despite the smile.

  I tried to pull my hand away, only to find it caught in a vice-like hold. I relaxed and met Velkov’s eyes, swearing silently. I was going to kill Cloete for this. ‘What can I do for you, Lady Velkov?’

  The succubus’s smile relaxed an inch, and then my hand was free. The barmaid appeared and slopped a beer in front of me, and a fresh one for Cloete. Velkov waved away the offered one for herself and slipped the girl some coins. ‘Lora, Cloete here tells me you’re one of the most resourceful Runners in Harken.’

  I shot Cloete a dirty look. She stared back, face shut down. My head pounded with warning bells. Did Gideon know Cloete’s mother was his main competition in the city? Was Cloete spying on Blackgoat’s business? Poaching clients? Gideon was a resourceful goat. No way he wouldn’t have known who Cloete’s mother was. Which begged the question: why did he hire her?

  ‘I'm here to make you an offer,’ Velkov said. ‘One that you’d be wise to accept.’

  I threw her some dimples. ‘I'm not often accused of being wise, so you’re probably wasting your breath.’ My eyes shifted to Cloete. ‘You got anything to add to this…friend?’

  I had been aiming for nonchalance, but my annoyance at being ambushed must have shown in my tone. Cloete mashed her lips shut and lines bracketed her mouth. I could feel an oily malevolence surface around the table as Velkov’s hard eyes calculated my response.

  She looked at Cloete. ‘Go check on your sisters.’

  Cloete chugged back half her beer, then stood and headed for the door without a word. Velkov watched her go, then her eyes dragged back to me. They were hard, with bitter lines crinkling the edges. Her pupils dilated and I felt myself being drawn into her whirlpool gaze. I dropped my eyes; succubus could enchant women the same as men.

  ‘My daughter, Chloe, she is a good fighter,’ Velkov said. ‘But too soft for my liking.’

  ‘You mean she’s got some empathy?’ My eyes shifted to my beer. Beneath the white foam lay a cool amber liquid, begging for me to drink it. My hands itched to pick it up, and my mouth watered for the taste, but an uneasy feeling stayed my hand. Velkov hadn’t voiced any threats, but there was a menace about her I didn’t like, and I knew the reason for this meeting had to be far from good.

  ‘I'll get right to the point. I intend to take over Blackgoat Watch’s business.’ Velkov’s voice was brisk, like she was ordering from a menu. ‘I am expanding my operations and will now be hiring men. I've made attractive offers to most of Gideon’s Runners and have it on good authority most will likely leave.’

  I suddenly recognised the extra note that was accompanying the warning bells in my head: the honking of oncoming-fucking-disaster. From what I'd heard about Velkov, she was a dirty fighter. If she was speaking any truth, Gideon was in for a nasty bitch-fight.

  ‘You already know what my answer will be,’ I said. ‘So why are you bothering to ask?’

  Velkov gave a raspy laugh and slapped the table with a solid blow. ‘I like you. Straight to the point. I wish Cloete had your spunk.’ She shook her head from side to side, the little bells tinkling.

  ‘I've seen Cloete hold her own just fine,’ I said. Cloete might have sold out, but something told me it hadn’t been an easy sale. I'd worked with the ferocious otherkin on many jobs in the past. She was a brilliant fighter and had a stubborn loyal streak. Maybe that streak was looking a little thin right now, but I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.

  ‘I can offer you twice what you’re paid at Blackgoat. Better working conditions. You pick the jobs you want.’ Velkov gave her rough laugh again. ‘I have several long-standing contracts with well-established organisations. All I need are reliable Runners. With me, people will quickly forget your reputation.’

  ‘I like my reputation the way it is. It can be handy to have expectations set so low.’

  Velkov smiled, showing fangs. ‘Do you know what they call you now?’

  ‘I'm sure it can’t be worse than Chopper.’ I realised my fingers were inching towards the beer and sternly reminded myself I did not drink with my enemies as a matter of principle. I arched my back, giving it a good stretch, then leant on my cane to push myself up.

  ‘You are making a mistake,’ Velkov said.

  ‘Wouldn’t be the first. Probably not even the biggest one I've made today. I'm consistent like that.’

  ‘What are you going to do now? Run to the old goat and warn him?’

  ‘Is that what you want me to do?’ I shrugged. ‘I'd wager he already knows.’

  ‘Finish your drink, at least. Waste of a good brew.’

  My eyes dropped to the beer. ‘I'll be having a drink later, but with better company.’

  I sauntered off, hearing Velkov chuckle softly behind me. Irritation prickled my spine. Someone laughing behind my back twice in one day… At this rate, a girl was could get a complex.

  Chapter 4

  The next day, I fronted up for my job with Nicola Grogan at the Iron Horse theatre, bang on time. My client was appearing in the matinee showing of the play Lola’s Wedding, which I had now seen twice and sincerely wished I hadn’t.

  I wasn’t impressed with the theatre either. Located on Grape Lane on the east side of Applecross, it catered to the working class citizen and was small, overcrowded, and reeked of cheap wine. The building was constructed of curved timber arches with a high domed ceiling, and the stage was large and lit with bright gas lights. The Iron Horse liked to advertise that they showed plays for the 'common man', and these sparkling gems of entertainment ran every day from mid-afternoon until midnight.

  The play had kicked off fifteen minutes late, and was now coming to its gripping conclusion, which consisted of a long monologue by my client, Nicola Grogan. Leaning against my cane backstage, I listened to Nicola recite her lines about love lost. Even on my third forced viewing, I still wasn’t sure what genre the play was. Comedy? Drama?
If I had to see it one more time, I was going to file it under ‘torture porn’.

  Stagehands scurried around the creaking backstage behind me, arms full of battered props and actors still in thick make-up lounged around, gossiping. The audience was the same as the other nights: a crowd of drunken degenerates from the nearby docks who didn’t look like they were getting any loving back home. By the looks of their filthy faces, they probably didn’t deserve any.

  The manager of the theatre had hired Blackgoat, and the job brief had been simple: protect Nicola Grogan until the end of the play’s showing in two weeks' time. There hadn’t been any more information, but I got the impression I was watching for an overzealous admirer.

  Scanning the crowd, I kept my eyes sharp for anyone looking to kick up trouble. So far, nothing twinged my sixth sense. I had the rare ability to read a person’s aura, and the cloud that hovered over the crowd churned and swelled like a greasy ocean storm. I quickly blinked the vision away.

  There weren’t many women patrons, just a handful of actresses and a sprinkling of street workers, cleavage boosted to fantastic heights by steel-boned corsets. As a consequence of this ratio, I'd had my backside pinched at least once. Of course, once the pincher got my knee in his balls, the error was quickly realised and I was left mostly alone.

  It was easy to see why Nicola was popular. Standing onstage and reciting her lines, she resembled a cherubic angel with plump cheeks and rosy lips. Her voice was high and sweet, and locks of shimmering blonde hair fanned to her waist like golden wheat in a warm summer sun. She was like a ray of sunshine, radiating sweetness and joy to all who met her. It set my teeth on fucking edge.

  A cough sounded behind me. I turned to see Leonard Stonehouse, the manager of the Iron Horse, and the one who’d engaged Blackgoat Watch for Nicola’s security. His frock was the colour of blueberries, with ivory lace spilling out of the sleeves. Short of stature, his boots always had substantial heels, bringing him to eye-level to those around him. Stonehouse leant into my personal space and I detected the faint odour of opium. We’d been introduced when I'd shown up for my first day, and I still hadn’t warmed to the guy. I hated talking to the money.