Burn Mark (28 page)

There was a workman’s bench close to a wall and they crouched behind it, pulling down some plastic sacking over their heads. It was a very makeshift sort of hiding place, and without witchwork they would have been dangerously exposed. As it was, there was precious little time to assemble the shroud. Lucas put the two totems – his and Glory’s thumbnails, wrapped in scraps of their pillowcases – on the pocket mirror. He breathed on the glass, fogging it over, then wrapped it in black felt before the mist could clear. Finally, he scattered it with grit and wood-shavings from the floor. A fog to lose them, blackness to hide them, earth to cover them . . . Even when crafted with fae as strong as his, a shroud wasn’t very reliable. They couldn’t move away from where it had been placed on the ground and it wouldn’t make them invisible, just hard to notice. Used with the dog-poppet, however, they should have enough witchwork to keep them safe.

Moments later, the sentry and his Alsatian arrived and a searchlight’s powerful beam swept across the interior. As the dog started snuffling about, Lucas pressed his thumb down on the poppet’s pinched-up ears. ‘Hear no evil,’ he whispered, before squashing down the clay snout, the dimpled eyes. ‘Smell no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.’ The poppet’s head was a shapeless lump of mud. The real animal’s mind was also muddy and formless; its senses functioning, but slowed. Lucas was its master now.

The guard came further in, shining his light into the corners. After two or three anxious minutes, he satisfied himself that all was well. He went back up the ramp. But before Lucas and Glory could get their breaths back, voices were heard, and Charlie Morgan himself tramped down.

He came alone, and carried a hurricane lamp that he set down on an upturned crate. His stocky bulk was swathed in a camel-hair coat, from which he took out what Lucas expected to be a cigar, but was in fact a nicotine inhaler. He sucked on it irritably. He looked at his watch, also irritably. Ten past nine. Whoever he was meeting was late.

Lucas switched on the tiny pin on the button-camera, and shifted fractionally to get a better view. Glory tensed up in response to his movement.

A moment later, the iron sheet over the entrance was scraped back. High heels click-clacked over the rough floor. A woman. Ruth Mackenzie. It must be. Tribunal member, civil servant and –

It wasn’t Ruth. This woman was smaller and slimmer. She was wearing a full-brimmed hat, pulled low, a dark coat with the collar turned up, and a scarf. When Charlie saw her, he picked up the lamp and held it in front of him, squinting suspiciously.

His visitor opened her coat and loosened the silk scarf. Lucas caught his breath. The lamp shone on an ugly iron collar that encircled her neck. Lady Serena Merle.

‘Don’t worry, Charlie.’ The little-girl voice wasn’t as breathy as Lucas remembered. ‘I’m still trussed up like a dog on a leash.’

Tonight there was nothing glassy about her eyes, or vacant in her smile. She looked tired, though. Her face was thin and strained. ‘Long time no see.’

‘Indeed. How’s Rose?’

‘About the same, thank you. No worse.’

‘That’s good to hear.’ He nodded. ‘All right. We both know this isn’t a social call. What have you got for me?’

‘Trouble,’ she said bleakly. ‘The worst kind. It’s about the witchcrimes. They – they’re not what people think. You see . . . I found out . . . well, my – my husband’s behind them. And other people at the Inquisition.’

Lucas felt Glory stiffen beside him. His blood turned to ice.

Charlie, however, gave a low chuckle. ‘Well, well, well. The pyros must’ve got themselves a pet witch. Someone they’re paying or someone they’re forcing to do their dirty work?’

‘Forcing, I think – there’s been some “disciplinary” issues, apparently. I don’t know the details. I only got wind of it on Wednesday night. Godfrey had been at his club, and drinking . . . he’s not used to it, really . . . Then he said something as I put him to bed. I didn’t have to pretend not to understand. Later I heard him – with Silas Paterson, on the phone. So I did some digging. There’s a government minister, Helena Howell, who’s helping in some way, and they have back-up at the Inquisition. The police too. I don’t know how far up it goes.’

‘Hmm. Trying to provoke a witch-hunt, are they?’

‘It’s cleverer than that.’ She twisted her hands. Her rings glittered in the lamplight. ‘It’s Jack Rawdon they’re after. They hate him and what he’s trying to do with WICA. They’re going to produce evidence he did the whistle-wind and plague and so on himself. They’ll say that when he was working against Endor all those years ago, he got turned. That he’s been one of the terrorists all along.’

‘Very neat. Yes, that’s a nice little stitch-up.’ Charlie sounded almost approving. ‘In fact, the only thing I don’t understand is why you’ve brought it to me.’

Lady Merle widened her violet eyes. ‘So you can put a stop to it, of course. You’ll have to be quick. There’s going to be one more attack, later this week, which is when Rawdon will be arrested. But this witch they’re using – they’ve got them locked up in one of the Inquisition’s hidey-holes. If you get to him or her first, make them testify, or . . .’ There was a catch in her voice, and she put out a hand in appeal. ‘Please. I’ve always given you good information, haven’t I? With your contacts and resources, you’re the only person who can help. The only one I can trust.’

Charlie laughed.

‘You always did make a good damsel in distress. Such charms might’ve worked on poor old Vince back in the day, and any number of eligible bachelors since. But I’m made of sterner stuff.’ He leaned back against a pillar and regarded her narrowly. ‘You’re a capable girl, Reeny. You’ve got this far without anyone suspecting you’ve a brain or a backbone. Why not make the most of it, and put the world to rights yourself?’

‘I can’t. I
can’t
. If Godfrey found out I’d gone behind his back, spilled his secrets . . . It’s not me I’m worried about – it’s Rose. Ever since the accident, she’s been helpless. She’s only his stepdaughter. He or his friends would find some way of avenging themselves on her. I know it.’

In her agitation, the cut-glass accent had slipped and roughened. Her eyes welled. ‘If Godfrey and Silas bring Rawdon down, it’ll be the end of WICA and any other institution that gives witchkind a role and rights. Don’t you see? After that kind of scandal, the Inquisition will be able to do whatever it likes –’

‘It’s a sad story, Reeny. It really is. Just the kind of villainy those two-faced pyros go in for. But let’s face it, I’m no fan of Jack Rawdon. My life would be much easier without his gang of witch-snoops poking their noses into my affairs.’ He grinned humourlessly. ‘If there’s a backlash, the covens will ride it out. We always do. Besides, desperation is good for recruitment. All those poor persecuted witches with nowhere to run, and no place to hide . . .’

‘You’re a cold-hearted son of a bitch.’ This time there was no emotion in Lady Merle’s voice. She wiped her eyes and began to button up her coat.

‘So everyone keeps telling me. And now’s not the time to turn soft. Kez is away, there’s Bradley Goodwin getting ready to mouth off in court, and to top it all, I got word this afternoon there’s a traitor in the ranks.’

Lucas felt all the breath squeeze out of his body.

‘I’m sorry, Reeny,’ Charlie said, as she turned to go. ‘But this ain’t my battle.’

Charlie stayed nearly fifteen minutes after Lady Merle left. He looked deep in thought. Then he began to type something into his smartphone. Just when the cramp in Lucas’s leg got to the point where he thought he’d have to stretch it out or scream, the guard reappeared.

‘Car’s here, boss.’

‘OK.’ Charlie sighed heavily. ‘You might as well push off too. There’ll be no more business here tonight.’

He and the guard stumped out and away. The rev of an engine could be heard. Lucas and Glory held their position for another agonising five minutes before emerging from the shelter. Glory switched on the torch. In its thin grey glow, her face was ghostly. Her eyes glittered.

‘Should’ve known. The Inquisition and every pricker in it – born and bred scum.’

Lucas was almost too dispirited to reply. He felt sick and hollow. ‘The Inquisition’s a vast organisation. A few corrupt officials –’

She was already marching out of the basement into the main building. When he caught up with her, she turned on him savagely.

‘Don’t you
dare
make excuses. You’ve got it on bloody film. You can’t trust none of them. Not the government, not the pyros, not the police. The whole stinking gang is rotten to their bones.’

‘Charlie Morgan’s just as happy to sell witchkind out as Silas Paterson.’

‘Charlie’s an evil sod. Nothing new there. And we ain’t a jot closer to giving him what for.’

‘And now he knows there’s an informant in the coven.’ Lucas bit his lip.

‘Huh.’ She propped the torch against a pillar. ‘The Inquisition probably gave him the heads-up on that and all. One less witch-agent for them to worry about.’

Lucas shook his head but couldn’t bring himself to deny the possibility outright. He crumbled the remains of the dog’s poppet between his hands, feeling the fae bleed away. He had to face the fact that Silas Paterson had Inquisition support. There were plenty of officers who shared his views, and some of these must be working with him. People like Gideon Hale, perhaps . . . The idea sickened him. For the conspiracy wasn’t just a crime – it was a betrayal of everything the liberal reformers had achieved. The Inquisition’s reputation would take years to recover. So much good work would count for nothing.

‘To terrorise their fellow citizens . . . People they’ve sworn to protect . . . how can they
live
with themselves?’

Glory made an exasperated sound. ‘Very nicely, I’m sure. So you can quit the hand-wringing. You’ll only give yourself another bunch of grey hairs.’

He would have thought it was just a figure of speech. But then he saw Glory’s eyes flinch. She knew that she’d let something slip. Though she recovered quickly, it wasn’t quickly enough. They stared at each other and the space between them hummed.

‘My God.’ He felt stupid with shock. ‘You can see past the glamour. You’re . . . you’re a witch too.’

For a moment, it looked as if she was going to try to face it out. Then she laughed, defiantly. ‘As good a witch as you, or better. Next time, find a safer place to hide your amulet. Or put stronger fae into its crafting.’

He swallowed hard. ‘Does this mean you know who I am?’

She didn’t answer. There were two spots of colour high on her cheeks.

‘Do you?’

Her lip curled.

‘Do you know who I am?’

He stepped towards her.

Anger and fear drummed through him. Their faces were so close they were almost touching. Both were breathing hard.

Suddenly Glory struck out at his chest, pushing him away. She drew herself up to her full height. ‘Yeah. I know you, all right. Lucas Hexing Stearne.’

A terrible thought came to him. Glory must have only recently learned his name – that was why her behaviour towards him had suddenly turned. And that afternoon, Charlie Morgan had been told there was an informant in the coven. ‘Were
you
the one who warned Charlie about the mole?’

‘Don’t be pathetic,’ she spat. ‘I hate the Inquisition and every pyro in it, but I hate Charlie just as bad.’

This time her gaze didn’t waver.

‘All right,’ he said stiffly. ‘I shouldn’t have doubted you. I guess we’ve both had some surprises today. You’ve learned my name, and I’ve discovered you’re a witch. We’re quits. Now we need to –’

‘Quits! Mab Almighty . . . don’t you know nothing about my world? There’s some who say turning snitch is the worst crime of all – worse’n murder even. But I ain’t just helped Auntie bring a spy into the coven. I’ve betrayed it to a
High Inquisitor’s son
.’

The gutted building loomed around them, dark and cavernous. Thunder rumbled distantly.

‘Are you saying that if you’d known who I was from the start, you’d never have helped me?’

‘I’m saying that everything’s changed. This ain’t the Inquisition against a corrupt coven boss. This is the Inquisition against witchkind. And . . . and I don’t think even you can be sure which side you’re on.’

Perhaps she was right. The idea infuriated him. ‘Hex you, then. You say I’ll never understand your world. What about you understanding mine? In your world, they roll out the red carpet for witchkind. Well, that’s not how it works where I come from. You think it was easy for me, telling my father what I’d become?’ He glared at her in the torchlight. ‘And I have just as much reason to distrust witches as you have inquisitors. Some hagbitch murdered my mother. With a bane.’

Lucas hadn’t meant to say this. It felt like a cheap shot, but some of Glory’s sharpness immediately softened.

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Christ.’ Then, with effort: ‘I’m sorry. Because I can . . . I mean, I do know how . . .’

Poor motherless witches, the pair of them. ‘Yeah. So it turns out we actually have two things in common.’

It wasn’t funny, but for some reason he wanted to laugh. To his surprise, Glory’s mouth twitched too.