Zilla came into the ducking-room with an armful of blankets. She stared at Lucas with impersonal curiosity. The witch-stain was already fading from his skin, but the shakes had set in. He was sitting against the wall, arms wrapped around his body in a futile attempt to keep in the warmth. His shivers were hard and merciless, the muscles contracting in mechanical jerks. His teeth rattled like loose stones. She threw the blankets at his feet and he crawled into them with animal relief. I’m alive, he thought. It’s done. For the moment, he didn’t care about anything else.
‘Have you heard from the Colonel?’ Gideon asked.
‘I left a message but he’s not answering his phone. How’d it go in here?’
‘Fine – I even managed to get some photos for the file. Really, it went like clockwork. Much better than the demo.’
‘Lucky you. What do we do with him now?’
‘Keep him here until further notice, I imagine. It’ll all be wrapped up by tomorrow night anyway.’
‘In that case, I’m going to check on . . . well. You know. Then I’ll try the Colonel again. He’ll want an update.’
Zilla left, and Striker went to stand guard outside the door. For the first time since coming here, Lucas wondered about the witch they’d been using for the attacks. Was he or she locked up in this basement too? Was that who Zilla was checking? Yet he could not summon the energy for real interest. He wound the blankets about him more tightly. They were smelly and itchy, but thick wool. After a while, the shudders became shakes, then trembles. He concentrated on breathing in and out, slow and sure.
Gideon, meanwhile, sat on a chair nearby and fiddled with his phone. Maybe he was sending urgent communications to the other conspirators. Maybe he was posting the pictures of Lucas’s ducking on his Facebook page.
‘People will be looking for me,’ Lucas said eventually. His voice was scratchy and thin, and hard to steady. ‘My father, my warden, WICA . . . they won’t rest until they know what happened.’
‘That’s simple enough,’ Gideon drawled. ‘You were caught breaking into a High Inquisitor’s office, where you used witchwork to attack an inquisitorial employee. You tried to feed us some garbage about being a secret agent, yet there’s no record of you in any official file. Your detainment and interrogation is entirely legitimate. Really, Stearne, you’ve only yourself to blame.’
‘Keeping me down here won’t do any good. Someone on your team has already leaked the plot to the Wednesday Coven. WICA have the details; the Inquisition too.’
‘Funny. You’re so full of righteous certainty, you say you have all this support . . . and yet you decided to burgle the Inquisition by yourself. That seems pretty desperate to me.’
Gideon tilted back on his chair. ‘Besides, the covens aren’t in any position to cause trouble. Not after Charlie Morgan’s unfortunate accident. And, as we know, WICA’s credibility is about to be shot to pieces.’
‘Not all inquisitors are like you,’ Lucas said quietly. ‘They’ll know something’s up. They’ll start to ask questions.’
‘I’m sure they will. Such as “what strings did the Chief Prosecutor pull to keep his witch-spawn off the register?”, for example. You see, it’s starting to look as if the Stearne family have cut a lot of rather dangerous corners. Important security procedures have been breached. The fact that a handful of Inquisition officials have colluded in this only confirms how deep the corruption goes. Once Colonel Paterson and his team have swooped in to arrest Rawdon and save the day, I think a lot of people will be calling for regime change.’
Lucas was finding it increasingly difficult to keep up. He looked at Gideon tiredly. ‘How long, really, have you known I’m a witch?’
‘Ah . . .’ Gideon pulled a sorrowful face. ‘Let’s just say that your stepsister has been having a very difficult time. Poor Philly feels that no one ever listens to her.’
Philomena. Of course. Not that it had made any difference in the end. Gideon was right: he’d brought this on himself. Lucas closed his eyes, let the world fade.
He might even have dropped off for a moment or so. Sheer exhaustion had overwhelmed everything else. But he snapped back to wakefulness when he realised Striker was in the room.
‘Fine,’ Gideon was saying. ‘I’ll talk to her. Stay here, and keep an eye on our friend.’
Striker squatted down on his haunches and regarded Lucas. His lean, bony face had a hungry look. ‘Ssssssss,’ he whispered, and sucked his gold tooth. Lucas kept his eyes on the floor. He was trying to listen to Zilla and Gideon’s conversation on the other side of the door.
‘. . . Helena on the line . . . There’s a problem . . . blaze . . . Can’t . . . get hold . . . Nobody’s seen . . . I’m sure . . .’
But then they moved away, and he couldn’t hear anything more, except for Striker’s soft hiss.
After only five minutes or so, Gideon returned. He didn’t look quite so sleek, or so sure. Something was wrong. Lucas felt a flicker of hope. Then he saw what Gideon was holding.
‘Zilla and I have some business to attend to, so we’ll have to say goodbye for now. Striker here will look after you. I’m sorry about the bridle, I really am. But we can’t afford you trying any witch-tricks while we’re gone. As an inquisitor’s son, I’m sure you’ll understand.’
He passed the witch’s bridle to Striker. It was the same one he’d used to muzzle Nell Dawson.
Lucas lifted his head. ‘Aren’t you going to stay and watch? That’s what you really like to do, isn’t it, Gideon? Isn’t that why you took my photograph?’
If Gideon felt his contempt, he didn’t show it. He paused at the door, and smoothed down his hair disdainfully. ‘I like to see justice done. That’s what the public wants too. Once the Inquisition’s powers are restored, we’ll start to see more punishment, less witchcrime.’
Once Gideon left, the room felt even colder. It was not the witch’s bridle that Lucas was most afraid of. It was being alone with Striker.
The fire in the west wing of Lord Merle’s mansion had spread from the attic to the upper floors. As Glory followed the others out of the main entrance, she could see thick red flames gushing like blood from the side of the house. The mill of firefighters, medics and gawping onlookers reminded her of the aftermath of Charlie’s car-bomb. But with all the activity and excitement, their own exit passed relatively unnoticed. A black van was waiting for them outside the door with its engine running. Without further ado, Colonel Paterson was bundled into the back and she and Troy clambered into the passenger seats, next to Jonah. Agent Connor sat up with the driver.
Jonah was already on the phone to the Inquisition. ‘They say Lucas left about an hour ago,’ he told Glory. ‘He’d been drinking apparently – was in quite a state. An old school friend by the name of Gideon Hale was taking care of him. It sounds like a set-up to me.’
Glory looked at her watch. The meeting between Silas and Serena, the fire and their escape, the confrontation in Merle’s collection room . . . it had taken just over half an hour. And all this time, Lucas had been in the hands of the enemy.
‘How d’you get here so quick?’ she asked, as they sped out of the avenue and back to the city.
‘We have Matt to thank for that.’ Jonah indicated the driver. ‘He works for the police, in the armed response unit. We sort of . . . well, requisitioned his vehicle.’
‘Jonah is my sister’s witch warden,’ said Matt, a middle-aged man with a stocky build and quiet manner. ‘She’s bridled, and last year some yob threw a stone at her in the street. It missed Stacey, and hit her little girl instead. Blinded her in one eye. It was Officer Branning who brought the man to justice.’ He shrugged. ‘Breaking a few traffic regulations is the least I can do.’
Agent Connor turned round from the seat next to him. ‘Sorry. There hasn’t really been time for introductions, has there? I’m Zoey,’ she said. ‘We spoke on the phone.’
‘Yeah, we’ve met before.’ This, then, was the true face of the redhead who’d accompanied Lucas to the safe house. ‘Um, thanks for the rescue.’
‘Don’t thank us yet,’ she said crisply. ‘We’ve illegally abducted a High Inquisitor. Our troubles have hardly started.’
Glory had wanted to get straight to the Lucas issue, but this brought her up short. ‘I thought you got a warrant?’
‘Not yet. Jonah has informed the Chief Prosecutor of the situation. He’s on his way home from abroad, and is in contact with the Home Secretary and Police Commissioner, not to mention the Witchfinder General. But in the meantime, we’re operating outside the law.’ Zoey shook her head. ‘It’s damn lucky we found you when we did. We had no idea what we’d be dealing with . . . How’s your friend doing, by the way?’
Troy had his eyes closed. His red hair was rusted with blood from where the rim of the scrying-bowl had cut him.
‘I’m fine,’ he muttered. ‘Bit of a headache, that’s all.’
‘Looks like a nasty blow,’ Jonah said. ‘You should see a doctor.’
‘I said I’m fine.’ Troy’s mutter deepened to a growl. Glory could sympathise. A road trip with an inquisitor, a policeman and an WICA agent would give any Morgan the jitters.
Glory looked down at the box she’d carried out of Lord Merle’s collection. It had seemed so important at the time, but away from the witchwork display, the contents could have been any old junk. ‘We need to find Lucas,’ she said. ‘Now the prickers know we’re on to them they’re probably chucking out all the evidence. Even if we get warrants and suchlike, it’ll be too late.’
‘Paterson won’t cooperate,’ said Jonah. ‘He’s tough, he’s clever, and he knows his rights. Until he sees a warrant, we won’t get anything out of him.’
‘We’ll see about that,’ Troy said.
‘No.’ Jonah frowned. ‘I won’t sanction any physical coercion.’
Troy laughed weakly. ‘That must be an inquisitorial first. You’re in the wrong job, mate.’
Zoey shook her head. ‘Jonah’s right. No more violence. Too many lines have been crossed already.’
Glory still didn’t see why a witch would choose to work for the government, and against the covens. She almost felt like saying, ‘See? See where it’s got you?’ She wanted Agent Connor to spit and swear, to pound her fist in rage. Her cool professional front wasn’t something Glory could understand.
‘I can get Paterson to talk,’ she said abruptly.
‘And how will you do that?’ Jonah asked.
‘Feminine charm.’
Troy laughed again.
But Agent Connor had turned round from her seat, and was regarding her seriously. Perhaps she’d already guessed what Glory planned, and what it meant. In response to the question in her eyes, Glory gave a very slight nod. Face to face . . . witch to witch.
‘Let me try,’ she said. ‘I know how to get through to him. No aggro, just chat. I promise.’
Agent Connor looked at her again. Another silent understanding passed between them.
‘OK,’ Zoey said. ‘Five minutes.’
The van pulled up in a lay-by. Glory went round to the back. The inquisitor, hooded and gagged, was attached to one of the built-in benches by the cuffs on his wrist, and a second set around his ankles. Matt the policeman stood on guard outside as Glory got in and closed the doors behind her. Then she pulled off the prisoner’s hood and – with a satisfying rip – the tape.
He didn’t look afraid; she’d say that for him. Instead, he let out a sigh of weary scorn. ‘Is this where you bring out the knuckledusters?’
‘Oh, I’m just a coven slut, remember. I’m sure there ain’t nothing I can do to scare a big strong inquisitor like yourself.’
She leaned across and brushed the shoulder of his suit. ‘You’ve got dandruff,’ she told him. Then she sat back on her heels, and unwrapped the wad of tissue she’d brought with her. It contained a scoop of earth from the side of the road. A tiny grub wriggled in it, which she carefully removed and put aside on a scrap of paper.
Colonel Paterson was already pale, but he grew paler.
‘Do you know what I’m doing?’ she asked, casually rolling the ball of mud and dandruff back and forth in her hands. The grub squirmed on its paper nest.
He didn’t answer.
‘Ain’t you guessed yet? Ain’t you worked out what I am?’
He swallowed. ‘This,’ he said, ‘is exactly why I and my colleagues have been forced to take the action we have. If tonight’s events prove anything at all, it’s that witchkind are as irredeemably unstable and vicious as we’ve always feared.’
‘Well, seeing as you’re such an expert on us,’ said Glory, ‘I’m sure you know what I’m crafting.’ She spat on her palm and began to shape the mud into a little figure of a man. ‘I’m a strong witch, you see. One of the strongest. And I know how to hex a bane that lasts. You understand?’
He didn’t say anything. He was absolutely still, mesmerised by the lump of mud in her hands.
She made her voice gentle. ‘So I’m going to put a worm in your brain. No one but you will know it’s there. Only you will hear it, as it whispers and gnaws . . . only you will feel it slither through your skull . . . It’ll grow bloated in there, and rotten. Your brain’s going to rot too. And there is nothing, nothing in the whole world that can help you.’
She cocked her head at him and smiled. The trick was to make people believe you were capable of anything.
‘. . . Unless, of course, you can tell me what you’ve done with Lucas.’