Outcast, p.26
Outcast, page 26
part #1 of The Grey Gates Series
That struck her as extraordinarily funny and she choked on a laugh.
He stopped a couple of paces away and crouched down so he could meet her eyes.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, before he could speak.
“Marshal Faddei said one of his people was missing. Asked for the Order’s help to search. I saw smoke coming from here,” Bryce answered, surprising her with a clear, direct response. He glanced at the charred remains nearby. “Your work?” he asked.
“Burned him,” Max said, hoping that he wouldn’t ask her how. She wasn’t quite sure how she had managed that. She didn’t remember creating the spell, just thinking about it, and the magic had burst forth on its own. Something she had never been able to do. Her teeth rattling together distracted her. She hadn’t realised she was so cold until she started speaking.
“Here,” Bryce said, and opened up the object in his hands. A blanket. And not just any blanket, but one of the Order’s feather-light, impossibly warm blankets. He rose to his feet and came closer. Her pulse jumped in her throat. She was all but defenceless. He was looming over her. Not trying to threaten her, she told herself. He could have hurt her, or killed her, without coming close to her. She forced herself to stay still while he draped the blanket around her.
As the warmth started returning to her skin, she started shivering in earnest. The ground was freezing cold under her. How had she not noticed that?
Bryce took a step back and crouched in front of her, taking something out of one of his pockets. A plain bottle of water. He loosened the cap for her and held it out. Not a threat, she reminded herself. He was offering her help. She took the bottle, managing to stutter out some thanks, and took a drink. The water felt warm in her mouth, and sliding down her throat. That was a bad sign, she knew.
While she took a drink, Bryce was typing something on his phone.
“Just letting the others know to stop searching. Do you want to call the Marshals?” he asked, offering the phone to her.
She put down the water and had to grab at the blanket as it slid from her shoulder. She anchored the blanket under her arm, only then realising that she was getting blood all over the Order’s blanket. Still, Bryce had given it to her knowing she was injured. She could try to clean it later, when she had healed. She accepted the phone, dialling the Marshal’s main number from memory. She knew that number better than her own.
“What?” Therese answered.
“It’s Max,” Max said, through chattering teeth. “I need a medical pick up and back-up and a clean-up crew. I don’t know the address,” she said.
Bryce held out his hand for the phone. She handed it across and he gave Therese the precise location, then blinked and looked at the phone.
“She hung up,” he said.
“She does that,” Max said, picking up the water again and taking another sip.
Bryce looked at her for a long moment. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and she didn’t like that. Not one bit.
“The warriors sent with you didn’t die easily, did they?” he asked her in a quiet, serious voice, surprising her into meeting his gaze. She had no idea what had made him say that, or why that had been on his mind. But he was crouched across from her, looking like he was prepared to wait for her to answer. And, more surprisingly, looking as if he would listen to whatever she had to say.
She ducked away from that look. It seemed to bore into her, wanting to draw out things that she had kept hidden for a long time. She had no idea how he had reached that conclusion. It twisted a long-dormant wound in her chest. Kitris had outright accused her of using the warriors as a shield. She had been so shocked that she hadn’t been able to defend herself. Not then, anyway.
And here was Bryce giving her an opportunity to put the record straight. With him, at least. The memories rose too close to the surface and she shoved them away. She had grown used to being held in contempt by the Order. Or so she told herself. And she didn’t want to think about the underworld or the warriors dying, one after the other, around her.
“No,” she answered after too long a pause, when her silence had probably given him the answer he needed.
“You were injured. Back then, I mean,” he said.
For a moment, she wanted to ask him what he meant. She had a bandage all around one thigh and fresh cut marks over one arm. Fresh and obvious injuries. How had he seen the older ones? Then she realised she had been sitting in a tank top and shorts, most of her skin exposed in the early morning light. He would have been able to see the old scars and burn marks on her arms and legs. And he was a warrior. He would be able to tell that they were old wounds, the physical injuries long since healed.
It hadn’t been a question, so she didn’t answer it.
“Why did Kitris tell us that you had failed?” he asked.
A direct question. A hundred possible answers crammed her throat. She had not failed, no matter what Kitris had said. But Kitris’ word was law in the Order. If he said she had failed, then that was the truth of the matter so far as the Guardians and warriors of the Order were concerned. Not one of them would go against their leader’s word. “You’ll need to ask him,” she said at length. It was the best answer she could give, however unlikely it was that anyone in the Order would ask Kitris a direct question. He did not encourage questions.
Bryce did not look satisfied with that reply. But to her surprise, he didn’t press the matter. Instead, he glanced to one side, hesitating slightly as if trying to decide what to say. She didn’t think she had ever seen him hesitate and could not imagine what had caused it now.
He looked back at her, face serious. “I remember throwing you against a wall in training class,” he said to her.
A bark of laughter escaped her before she could check it. Of all the things he might have said, that was perhaps the most unexpected. “I remember that, too. At least the wall was padded,” she said.
He was frowning now. “Why were you in that class?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” she asked. Her body was slowly warming up, the knife cuts on her arm stinging enough to make her eyes water. Her brain was still sluggish, though, not understanding what he was asking or why.
“That was an advanced unarmed combat class,” he explained. There was no anger or irritation in his voice, he was just stating a plain fact. “It’s not somewhere I’d expect to see an apprentice.”
“Oh,” she said. She remembered the humiliation of turning up for the next class and not even being allowed into the room. “Is that why you didn’t let me back in the day after?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “You weren’t ready for that level of training. It would have been dangerous for you to continue.”
“Oh,” she said again. “Well, I was told to go to your class by the senior apprentice at the time. Did you think I just turned up?” she asked.
“No,” he said, a smile pulling his mouth, surprising her almost as much as his questions had. “You were always a diligent and careful student. I knew someone had to have sent you.”
Max opened her mouth, but no sound came out. All those years before, she had been doing her best to learn the lessons that were being taught to her, and constantly failing. She had thought she had been invisible to everyone apart from her tormentors, but it seemed that one person, at least, had noticed her. It shouldn’t have meant so much to her, but more warmth spread through her body and she could not help smiling.
She wanted to ask him more, but there were more vehicle engines in the distance, quickly drowned out by the sound of a helicopter whirring overhead. The Marshal’s medical team was here.
“Is it over?” Bryce asked her, tilting his head towards the charred remains not far away.
The warmth and laughter faded as she stared back at him, trying to frame an answer. The killer was dead. But she still had questions. Such as how he could possibly have risen from the dead. “This part is. For the moment.”
Chapter twenty-six
The small space of quiet was overtaken by noise and bustle. Bryce stood up and moved away, somehow melting into the background as the medical team arrived. The helicopter landed on the bare expanse of concrete and the same medical team who had treated Zoya rushed across to Max’s side with the same professionalism they had used with Zoya. The pair used a lot of words over Max’s head including hypothermia, burst stitches, immediate transfer to hospital and dehydration.
They had stripped her of the leather wrap and silver canister and transferred her to a stretcher before she realised what was happening, cool stings letting her know that there were needles going into her arm. A bag of clear fluid was hung over her head, a bright light shone in her eyes. They wanted to move her to the helicopter.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the charred remains of the killer shift on the ground. She had thought he was dead. She had been sure he was dead.
Drowsy with exhaustion, blood loss and now warm from the Order’s blanket, which she had refused to let go of, Max said no to being moved. Softly at first, then more forcefully. She was not leaving until more Marshals arrived.
Somewhat to her surprise, the medical team obeyed her and waited in the open with her until a pair of Marshals arrived. Pavla and Yevhen, as luck would have it.
The married pair listened with obvious disbelief as Max told them that the charred remains had risen from the dead once already, and they needed to be extra careful with the corpse. But Pavla and Yevhen had both been Marshals long enough to listen to weird stories. They promised to be careful.
That done, the medical team wheeled her away to the waiting helicopter. In settling her into the helicopter, they put a mask over her face and darkness swallowed her again.
Max woke to a dry mouth and the sensation of being smothered. She opened her eyes to find a great, dark head lying on her chest, another one across her legs.
She must have made a sound, because Cas opened his eyes, his head still on her chest, and stared at her for a long moment before stretching forward and licking her face. Pol woke up from her legs and crawled up the bed to settle at her other side, pinning her under the covers.
The dogs’ movement must have set off an alarm somewhere, as the door burst open and a pair of harassed-looking nurses ran in, careening to a halt in the doorway as they saw the dogs.
“You’re awake,” one nurse said.
“Er, they wouldn’t get off the bed when we asked,” the other nurse said. “Do you think you can get them to move now?”
“I’ll try,” Max said, her voice rasping. “Cas. Pol. Get down, please.”
The dogs stared back at her. Cas gave her another lick for good measure, then he and Pol slid off the bed in a manner designed to show that they could have stayed - if they had wanted to - but they were choosing to leave. They moved a fraction away from the bed, sitting down next to each other.
Max scrunched up her face. She didn’t like being licked, but it was a sign of how worried her dogs had been. They only did it when she was ill or badly hurt. She tried to raise her arm to wipe her face, stopping when she found her limb stiff and unresponsive. Looking down, she saw that one arm was swathed in bandages from shoulder to wrist and the other was tied to the side of the bed with a strip of bandage, a shunt at her elbow leading to a bag of clear fluid on a stand by her bed.
“Sorry about that,” the first nurse said, coming around the bed to cut off the bandage. Cas and Pol kept a careful watch on her, but didn’t move. “You were restless in your sleep, and we were worried you’d dislodge the drip. But we can take it out now, if you like?”
“Yes, please,” Max said. She watched, fascinated and repulsed at the same time, as the nurse expertly disconnected the tube to the bag of fluid and then withdrew a far-too-long needle from Max’s arm, pressing a bit of gauze down in its place.
“You’ll have a bruise for a few days,” the nurse said.
“Alright,” Max said. She had plenty of other bruises. One more was not going to make a difference.
Now that she was more awake, she caught a heady, decadent scent in the room and turned her head, looking for the source. There was a vase of deep red roses set on a small shelf halfway up the wall, the scent seeming to grow stronger as Max noticed them.
“Aren’t they beautiful?” the second nurse said. “There was a card with them,” she added, moving to the shelf and picking up a small envelope next to the vase.
Max took the heavy paper envelope and opened it, pulling out a single piece of card and reading the handwritten note.
I admire someone who can keep their promises. Until the next time. K.
Lord Kolbyr. It could be no one else. Max shivered slightly as she tucked the card away. She had promised to tell him if Ruutti gave her any information about the case. That hadn’t happened, and the vampire’s telephone number was sitting unused in the glove compartment of her pick-up. She wasn’t sure she wanted the ancient vampire to remember who she was, let alone admire her.
A knock at the door caught her attention. There was a wheelchair in the doorway, with Zoya in its seat, and Faddei pushing her.
“Up for some visitors?” Zoya asked, grinning.
“Yes,” Max said, even if she wasn’t quite sure. Her stomach was turning itself into a knot seeing the other Marshal in a wheelchair.
“We’ll leave you to talk,” the second nurse said. She pressed a button next to the bed, lifting it up so that Max was almost sitting. Then she pressed cup with a straw into Max’s free hand. “You probably have a dry mouth. Try to take little sips only. And don’t stay too long,” she added, with a stern frown to Faddei and Zoya.
“Of course,” Faddei said, sounding respectful. He wheeled Zoya into the room and closed the door behind the nurses.
All at once the space felt crowded with the two dogs and three humans. Her throat was sore, so she took a sip from the drink the nurse had left and made a face. It was bitter. There was probably some kind of medicine in it. At least it took the raw edge off her throat.
“How are you?” she asked Zoya.
“I’ll be out of here in a day or so,” Zoya answered, smiling. She stood up out of the chair and took a slow turn. “See. I’m all better, really. They’re just being careful.”
“I’m sorry,” Max said, throat tightening. It had been her job to look after Zoya.
“It would have been one of us,” Zoya said, with a one-shouldered shrug, settling herself back in the wheelchair. “If you’re going to blame anyone, blame the kid for breaching the wards.”
“The Order has extended its concern for the events,” Faddei said, eyes gleaming. “Apparently even they realised that sending partly trained apprentices out to the Wild was not the best idea.”
“Is that why they were helping you look for me?” Max asked.
“Yes. How much do you remember?” Faddei asked, eyes on her face.
“Most of it, I think. The killer came to the clinic. Oh, is everyone alright? I’m sure I pressed the call button, but no one came.”
“Yes, they’re fine,” Faddei said. “John Smith had dosed them with the spray as well. It takes a while to wear off. He didn’t hurt any of them.”
“That’s something, at least,” Max said. “John Smith? That’s his actual name?”
“That’s the name on his employment record, at least. No, I don’t believe it any more than you do. He joined the police’s technical division about two years ago. He must have passed their security checks, but there doesn’t seem to be any record of him before that time. I’ve asked the Librarian to look into it.” Faddei’s face was tight.
And if anyone could find the truth of John Smith and his actual identity, it would be the Librarian, Max thought. “He’d been working there for two years? Any idea what happened to make him start killing?” she asked.
“No one is sure. There’s a lot of shouting going on at police headquarters, and in the council rooms. The Walsh clan are furious that someone within the police killed one of their number.”
Yes, Max thought. That would be the thing they worried about. The killing of a member of the Five Families. Not the other victims. Not the reason why John Smith had been killing. None of that would matter in comparison to the insult.
Faddei took a seat next to Zoya and let out a long breath.
“You sound tired, boss,” Zoya said, putting her hand on his knee. “Perhaps we should get you a bed in here, too?”
Faddei rubbed a hand over his face, then put his hand over hers. “And have to eat hospital food? No thanks.”
Zoya grinned and turned back to Max. “The whole place has been buzzing. Did you really burn that man?”
“I did,” Max confirmed, shivering at the memory. “I’m not really sure how,” she added, before either of them could ask.
“You were right to be concerned, though,” Faddei said, all humour gone from his face. “Audhilde said she saw signs of repair beginning in his tissues when she got him to the mortuary. Apparently, they had to apply a special treatment of some kind.”
“He’s definitely dead, though?” Max asked.
“Yes. Audhilde confirmed it. She said she’d send you a certificate as well.” Faddei’s brow lifted. “It’s already waiting for you at headquarters.”
Max’s eyes prickled with unexpected tears. She would not have expected the ancient vampire to understand, but it seemed that Audhilde had known without needing to be told that Max needed to be absolutely sure that John Smith was dead.
“So, that’s it then,” she said, blowing out a breath. “The killer is dead. He never succeeded in his rituals. The city is safe from the underworld again.” At least for now, she added in the quiet of her own mind. The dark lord had never been content to simply rest in his realm. He would be trying to escape again soon enough.
Before she could dwell on that too much, Faddei leant forward a fraction.
“And I had a most interesting meeting with the council yesterday,” he said, that gleam of humour back in his face. Max eyed him warily. She had an idea that she was not going to like whatever he had to say. “They’ve agreed to stop the underground fights at the Sorcerer’s Mistress,” he said.
