Page 16 of Blackwicket
Delaying a confrontation with these rooms, I wandered to the tower door, tucked away in a small alcove, goldenrod paper wrinkled with damp. I imagined the stairwell had completely caved in. I reached for the doorknob, but it was locked. The keys. They were downstairs. Aggravated at the thought of the journey up being in vain, I cursed under my breath, then quieted as an instinctive urge tingled at the base of my neck. I withdrew my hand until only fingertips remained, searching for the fluttering hum of life. There it was, soft as a sleeping breath. I could open the door without a key, just this time, but as I dipped into my neglected magic, searching for a connection, the humming swelled, transforming into a piercing electric scream. The globe of light nearest me exploded, glass scattering in all directions. I guarded my face, ducking away with a startled cry.
Sparks convulsed and the fixture crackled thrice before dying out even as the other bulbs brightened, leaving me squinting. I choked on the scent of scorched metal and something else I couldn’t place, nauseatingly oversweet, until the chaos calmed, lights dimming. Shards fell from my sleeves as I lowered my hands and began my race down the stairs, planning to collect the little money I had and leave everything else behind before I was forced to brave anymore of this bullying. But as I tripped towards the bottom step, barely catching myself on the banister, my strategy was derailed by something unexpected—the dominating figure of a man I knew all too well, waiting for me in the foyer.
Chapter Six
He towered over the check-in counter, melted snow dappling the shoulders of his earth-brown overcoat, which he’d unbuttoned, signaling he’d been inside for some time. His hands were tucked in the pockets of his well-tailored wool trousers, casual as a commuter waiting for a train. I’d only ever seen his coal-black hair styled in a precise, sleek wave at his temple, the fashion as buttoned up and controlled as the rest of him, but the sea gale had abused it, curling the ends around his ears. The effect did nothing to soften his features, serving instead to draw attention to his stern brow and the aquiline arch of his nose, unarguably broken, perhaps on multiple occasions. More than these aspects, it was the violent scar that drew my eye, a testament to his infamous line of work. It ran from the apex of one high, tawny cheek to interrupt the severe line of his jaw, skipping the jugular only to begin again an inch above his shirt collar. The wound had likely been deep, magically cauterized by a hasty hand, leaving the skin puckered and shining, blanched of all color.
He’d been considering my abandoned bags when I’d come nearly crashing down and raised his eyes to me, dark as his history of tormenting magic users in the name of order.
“Inspector Harrow.” The words emerged strangled.
“Ms. Knoles,” the Inspector said, drawing the name out in his gravely baritone. He made a small show of wincing, “Oh, that’s right. It isn’t Knoles, is it?”
My foot rose to retreat up the steps.
“If you run,” he cautioned softly, as though speaking in a sacred place, or perhaps a damned one, where evil is easily disturbed, “I’ll chase you. If you fight, well, you’re a delicate-looking thing, but I’m plenty aware you pack a nasty punch, so I’ll take no chances.”
He shifted his coat aside with a flick, revealing the grip of a revolver holstered at his hip. But it was an empty threat. This man possessed the power to do far worse than shoot me. Inspectors like Harrow were trained in Annulment, the merciless act of severing the natural magic from a body. Unlike Curse Eating, which carried the risk of tearing away fragments of the soul along with diseased magic, Annulment was the deliberate removal of a facet of humanity impossible to survive without.
“How did you get in?”
He glanced at the door. From this angle, the scar was in full view. When we’d first met over an interrogation table, he’d caught me noticing it.
“Brom.” He’d tapped it. “I wasn’t lucky enough to be dealing with an adept like yourself, Ms. Knoles. The fool didn’t know how to use the magic he’d stolen, so he pulled a weapon. It was undoubtedly less painful than what you did to Mr. Mofton.”
“Brock was my friend.”
“Liar liar,” he’d murmured, fixing me with his icy gaze, piercing and fathomless with hatred.
“Door was open,” he said, amusement in his voice, though there was no smile on his broad mouth.
I’d bolted that door. Even if I hadn’t, the house was experienced with thwarting attempts at lock-picking, which meant it had invited him in, the worst person it could have welcomed outside of Grigori Nightglass himself. There was nolonger any question about where I stood in its favor. His presence was punishment.
“I figured you’d be scurrying out of Devin. Went to your flat and found it ransacked and thought someone else got to you first, but then a tip comes in: Darren Rose is in Oldtown at some rattrap with a cagey, bloodless looking dame.”
Somehow, I still found the gal to be offended by the fact the Authority assumed the woman to be me before being outraged that my father hadn’t disclosed he was on their radar. Admitting to being blood-related to Darren wasn’t an excellent card to have in my hand, but other implications were worse.
“Darren’s my father.”
His right brow twitched upward.
“I haven’t talked to him in ten years.”
“That long? How lucky he shows up to help you in your hour of need.”
I had no rebuttal. The timing of Darren’s arrival following my foolish decision at the department store was too unbelievable. The Inspector would never accept it as a coincidence.
“Oh,” he added as an afterthought, “You might be interested to know that the woman, Ms. Rosley, didn’t survive the stunt you pulled at Galtons.”
A shock of regret jarred me. All of this, and I hadn’t even been able to help her.
“I was trying to save her life,” I said, gritty and uneven.
“An interesting way to go about it.”
Scorn handed me back my spine. I released my white-knuckled hold on the banister and took the last step down to prove I didn’t always run, that I was capable of standing and taking ground when necessary.
“Let me make something clear,Inspector. What happened at Galton’s was the result of someone else’s wrongdoing, notmine. Whatever Ms. Rosley was involved in had nothing to do with me.”
