Chapter 6
Ezra pressed his fingers into his eyes, wincing. The bruises were fresh, and it was too early in the morning to be in pain, even for him. He’d left his curtains open—light screamed into the room, making him groan and shove his head beneath the pillow.
His sleep had been dreamless, but now that he was awake, Ezra couldn’t shake the image of that woman with the ghastly face from his head. Maddog confirmed that Ezra hadn’t imagined her, but why in hell was he seeing this Familiar, or whatever she was, and why hadn’t anyone else seen her?
What was even more puzzling was that Maddog knew what she was.
In all his years with the Unseen, Ezra never came across a Familiar. He was aware there were things that existed in the shadows of the world but seeing something supernatural was not a common occurrence, as far as he knew.
Ezra dressed and padded barefoot down the stairs and into the empty bar. He wasn’t in the mood for trying to unravel a mystery this early so he helped himself to a bottle of whiskey, set on spending the rest of the day in bed, drinking and licking his wounds.
He couldn’t believe he’d had his arse handed to him so spectacularly. It was embarrassing. Hernan wasn’t going to let him live it down.
Maddog’s office was tucked behind the bar. The fancy, glass-panelled door was closed, but Maddog’s shadow moved behind it. Curious, Ezra paused. Voices eased from beneath the door.
‘… you need to bring me some proof …’ Maddog, sounding annoyed.
‘ … you might just have to trust me on this.’ A woman.
A sigh. ‘And the mark was on a dead man?’
Silence, then something too low for Ezra to hear.
‘Bring me proof,’ Maddog said firmly.
Loud knocking ricocheted through the building.
A tall, shadowy figure was pounding on the front doors.
Ezra hurried back up the stairs to his room before Maddog discovered him lingering outside his office.
After a gulp of whiskey, he pulled the curtains closed, and crawled back into bed.
The blonde woman’s terrible face pressed against the back of his eyelids, then shifted, and it was the redhead.
She’d been living in the back of his mind since he followed her out of that pub.
It was more than some misplaced sense of something familiar; it was the way her mouth fit perfectly against his, the way her curves melted into the sharp line of his body, and the way she felt beneath him, her fingers in his hair, her leg curled around his hip.
Ezra remembered the way her skin felt beneath his hands, like he’d touched her already.
And her eyes—he swore he’d looked into them before.
He could understand why she hadn’t told him her name.
He slept with random women because sex let him forget, if only for a moment, who he was and what he was hiding from.
Sometimes, it was easier to be no one than someone.
The door was flung open and Maddog marched in.
‘Up,’ he demanded, straightening his waistcoat. ‘There is someone here to see you.’
Ezra blinked. Jem?
Sharp, purposeful footsteps echoed on the floorboards, and a man appeared in the doorway. Dark hair, swept back. Dark clothes. A serious face, thin nose, and hollow cheekbones.
‘I must say, you don’t look very well, Mr Ives.’
Ezra experienced a moment of pure panic.
The man wandered in, wrinkling his nose as he surveyed the room, then seated himself in Ezra’s armchair. ‘Maybe a drink, Mr Pierce, if you will. It might take him a moment to come back to himself. It looks like he’s had a tough night.’
Ezra was aware of Maddog moving around his room, finding a glass and the bottle of whiskey Ezra had stolen. The gangster filled the glass and shoved it into Ezra’s hand. Their eyes met briefly; Maddog’s expression gave nothing away.
‘Relax. I’m not here to turn you over to the Gendarme,’ the stranger said.
‘I think you’ve got me confused with someone else,’ Ezra said lightly, hoping the man couldn’t see how his fingers trembled on the glass. This was it. It was all over. He wondered how far he could get this time.
Maddog opened the curtains. Ezra winced and downed his whiskey while the man in black sat in his chair and stared at him with too much interest for someone who hadn’t introduced himself.
‘Who are you?’ Ezra demanded.
The man smiled. ‘My name is Father Bertram Blackwood. When you’re conscious, we can talk.’
It took another glass of whiskey and a sharp tap on the cheek from Maddog for Ezra to be able to hold a conversation.
With the Head of the Church.
In his bedroom. In a gangsters club in the Devil’s Credges.
Blackwood could destroy him.
‘I’m sure you, like every person in this city, are aware of the story of the Fall,’ Blackwood began.
He was here to talk bible stories?
‘What about it?’
‘Have you ever made a deal with the Devil, Mr Ives?’
‘Would I be here chatting with you on this fine morning if I had, Father?’ Ezra replied. What the fuck was going on?
Blackwood chuckled, then his expression turned serious. ‘The Church has a job for you—God has a job for you, Mr Ives.’
Ezra’s laugh was dark. ‘God? What has God done for me lately except give me a hell of a lot of grief?’
Father Blackwood poured himself a drink. ‘It is my understanding that before you ruined your life, you were Unseen, and that you were rather exceptional in your talents.’
‘I don’t know if I call what I can do exceptional,’ Ezra murmured.
‘The Church considers it exceptional, useful even.’
And there it was. ‘I don’t know what you want, but the answer is no.’ Ezra shot Maddog a look. The gangster was standing by the window, a thoughtful frown on his face.
‘Every Unseen is trained to track a death witch, but none are as good at it as you were,’ the Father continued. He tapped his fingers on his thigh. ‘That’s why I’m here, Mr Ives. I want you to find me one.’
Ezra blinked. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Find the Church a Daughter of Lilith,’ Blackwood replied.
It had been a long time since Ezra heard death witches referred to as Daughters of Lilith. ‘The King exiled the witches, or have you forgotten that fact? Does the Church operate under its own rules now, or has the Crown realised they’ve made a mistake and are too proud to admit it?’
Maddog made a noise. Ezra wasn’t sure if it was disapproval or not.
‘What’s in it for me?’ he asked, throwing back the bedclothes and getting to his feet.
‘The Gendarme won’t find out where you are,’ Blackwood answered after a pause.
Ezra raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re blackmailing me? Does God approve?’
‘Consider it an opportunity to clear your name, Mr Ives. Help us, and we shall help you. You want your life back? I can make sure you get it.’ Blackwood finished his drink and stood. He was taller than Ezra, straight-backed and broad shouldered, not much older than forty.
‘Don’t take too long deciding,’ Blackwood said, sweeping from the room. Maddog followed and when he came back, his face was like a thundercloud.
‘Don’t look at me like that. I’ve had a rude shock, so forgive me if I forgot my manners,’ Ezra flopped onto the bed, staring at the ceiling.
‘I couldn’t give a shit about your manners. You’ll do what he says,’ Maddog growled.
‘Bullshit I will. I work for you, not the Church, and certainly not Blackwood.’
‘Listen to me,’ Maddog began, his voice low. ‘I don’t give a fuck what you did in the past—what I care about is keeping your old friends out of my business. If the Gendarme or their witch-hounds even put one fingernail inside this club, you’d better hope they get to you before I do. Understand me?’
Ezra glowered at the man towering over him. ‘Perfectly.’
Jem was waiting, a tall, black-cloaked figure staring at the water. No one could brood quite like Jem. The world was smothered in early morning fog, the air was kissed with the first breath of winter. Ezra pulled the collar of his coat around his ears as he joined Jem in watching the filthy water.
‘You’re late,’ Jem said, giving him a quick once-over. ‘You got in the ring, I take it? Even after I told you not to?’
Ezra didn’t bother with a reply. He'd caught sight of his reflection as he left his room—shadows beneath his eyes, a bruise colouring his jaw, a split in his lip and another in his eyebrow. His knuckles were aching in the cold, so he shoved his hands in his pockets.
Jem’s mouth was turned down, irritation clear in every line of his face.
‘Someone paid me a visit yesterday morning,’ Ezra said. Jem’s eyebrows lifted speculatively. ‘The good Father Bertram Blackwood came to see me. I’d had my arse kicked, so I thought I’d imagined the whole thing, to be honest.’
‘What?!’
Ezra blinked. Jem never shouted, yet here he was, red-faced, in the morning cold, his chest heaving and shock scrawled across his features.
‘The Church knows where you are?’
‘Yes, and I haven’t begun to try and work out how,’ Ezra rubbed his face.
He pressed against the bruise on his jaw and winced, even as some part of him enjoyed the dull ache.
‘He asked me to find a death witch, but wasn’t willing to share why.
’ He paused. ‘This could change things, Jem. Give me my life back, but …’
‘But?’
‘The King exiled the witches and had us murder the rest of them, and the Crown and the Church have been in bed together for hundreds of years. So why would the Church now be going behind the Crown’s back?
The last thing I want is to stick my neck out only for it to end up on someone else’s chopping block.
What do I do? Have you heard anything about the Church needing a death witch? ’
Jem was silent for a long moment, until he sighed. ‘If Blackwood has asked you personally, it’s because it’s important. Blackwood doesn’t do anything unless it’s for the Church. The man breathes for God and God alone.’ He nodded, as if confirming it with himself. ‘You should do it.’
Ezra narrowed his eyes. ‘Besides making good with God, which I don’t need to do, by the way, what other reason do I have to do this?’
‘Do you remember all those times I stood you up when we were supposed to get a drink after work?’
The question took Ezra by surprise. ‘Family issues, I believe you said.’
Jem nodded. ‘Did you ever wonder what those issues were?’
‘All the time, but I always figured you’d tell me if it was important enough. What’s going on, Jem?’
Jem sighed, raking his hand through his dark hair. ‘Have you ever heard of the Order of the Dawn?’
Ezra stared at him for a moment, and then groaned. ‘Please don’t tell me this is some sort of secret society filled with strange old men in robes? Because it sounds like it could be.’
‘Ezra,’ Jem began, irritated. Ezra was going to enjoy this.
‘Do you have a secret headquarters? Code names? A uniform?’ He nudged Jem with his shoulder, and his friend gave him an exasperated look. ‘Tell me you have a secret knock at least.’
‘The Order of the Dawn is an arm of the Church. We hunt demons, Ez.’
Ezra’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Demons? As in the scary servants of the Fallen One?’
Jem rolled his eyes. ‘Yes, Ezra. Those demons. What other sort are there?’
Ezra was lost for words.
Jem chuckled uncharacteristically. ‘I think this is the first time you’ve been silent since I’ve known you.’ He kicked at an errant stone, sending it skittering away. ‘Demonic activity has been increasing lately. There are more of Asmael’s Familiars than ever before, as well.’
‘Familiars,’ Ezra murmured. The woman with the flickering face flashed before his eyes.
‘They’re human, but—’ Jem began.
‘I’ve seen one,’ Ezra admitted. ‘At the fight. A woman. I thought I was hallucinating.’
Jem grabbed him around the upper arm. ‘You saw a Familiar?’
‘Yes, and considering no one ran screaming from the club, I’m certain I’m the only one who did. Then Maddog Pierce, of all fucking people, told me what she was,’ Ezra pulled his arm free.
Jem was shaking his head. ‘You shouldn’t be able to see them. No one except members of the Order can see them.’
Ezra straightened his coat. ‘Well, I did, and I’m not a member of your little club.’ He gave Jem a curious look. ‘Is Maddog in your club?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, and it isn’t a club.’ Jem glanced around surreptitiously. The sun had risen, and activity on the dock was stirring. ‘When you find the death witch, take her back to the Canem Club. I’ll come to you,’ he said.
‘Are you going to hand her over to Blackwood?’ Ezra trusted Jem with his life, but had doubts about the Church and their agenda.
A death witch had a bigger target on her back than Ezra did.
If he did what Blackwood—and now Jem—were asking, what would happen to her?
He knew nothing about this Order of the Dawn.
And he’d made a vow that he would never hunt witches again.
A man carrying a crate gave them a suspicious glance as he passed; Ezra waited until he moved away before he spoke again. ‘Exactly how long am I expected to hold her prisoner? What should I tell her?’
Jem’s smile was sly. ‘I’m sure you, of all people, can think of something to do with your mouth that doesn’t involve talking.’
‘And if she’s as old as my mother would be?’ Ezra folded his arms.
Jem laughed. ‘I’m sure you’ll come up with something.’ He sobered. ‘The Order have been looking for a death witch for some time.’
‘Why do you need one?’
‘That’s on a need-to-know basis. Will you do this for me?’
Ezra sighed. ‘As if I can say no.’
It was Jem who had gotten him out of the Gendarme’s office before he could be hauled off to a cell.
Jem who found him, weeks later, in an opium den, then tracked him down after that, stealing into the Canem Club as Ezra was staggering out of the ring.
He owed Jem his life. If there was one thing Ezra could be proud of, it was that he didn’t let his friends down, even if they belonged to a mysterious group devoted to ridding the world of demons.
‘When you say you hunt demons, what does that mean, exactly?’
‘It means exactly what it sounds like. We track them, we kill them, we burn their remains, and the people of this shitty city go on to live their shitty lives with one less demon wandering around,’ Jem said. ‘That’s what the Order does, Ez. We protect people.’