Chapter Twenty-One
‘Inspector Wise,’ Bolton greeted warmly, like we were friends who’d bumped into each other during a shopping trip instead of me being his arresting officer. He had rich red hair and a jawline that usually came from plastic surgery or vampyr-turned perfection.
‘Bolton,’ I replied.
Shaun Bolton, also known as John Melton, was Amber DeLea’s estranged father and the erstwhile leader of the Black Coven.
He was also the sole living Domini whose identity I knew. This was my best and only chance to get the jump on them.
He flashed his teeth. ‘And how is my lovely daughter?’
‘She’s well,’ I said. I could give him that much to start a dialogue.
It took effort, though, to swallow down a comment about his other daughter, whose neck he’d coldly snapped the moment she’d become a liability. It was the reminder I needed that I was dealing with someone cold, ruthless and deadly.
‘No visits from the Red Guard, I trust?’ I asked.
The vampyr group was officially dedicated to stamping out evil witches who used blood and death to transform themselves into necromancers.
Necromancers could control the dead, and being the walking dead, vampyrs had a vested interest in stopping all witches from sliding down that particular slippery slope.
‘No, you did save me from that. But the outfits here are terrible,’ he joked, shrugging to bring attention to his straitjacket.
‘He kept drawing runes,’ Pritchard whispered to me, ‘with anything he could get his hands on. Mud, blood. He even did it in baked-bean juice once. So now he doesn’t get to use his hands.’
‘He’s in magic-nullifying runes too, no?’
‘Of course. Renewed every two weeks.’
I frowned. ‘Is he present during the renewal?’
Pritchard nodded. ‘He remains here. Usually in isolation except for feeding time.’
He made it sound like Bolton was a zoo animal.
‘Is it the same witch who comes or does it vary?’
‘It varies. Why?’
‘Just wondering,’ I said mildly. Just wondering if there was an opportunity for an evil witch to slip him something, be it news, gossip or a magical shiv.
‘The witches who come are all highly vetted and screened, all incredibly powerful.’
Powerful. Like the Domini. They were said to be attracted to power like bees to pollen.
‘How does he use the toilet?’ I asked. ‘With his jacket on?’
‘I have a nappy,’ Bolton interjected. ‘Honestly, I’m just so glad you didn’t kill me, Wise.’ The sarcasm in his voice was laid on with a trowel, but I ignored it.
‘He deserves to be able to go to the toilet,’ I said to Pritchard, disgust in my tone.
‘He was allowed until he did a black rune with his excrement.’ Pritchard rubbed his chin. ‘We still haven’t worked out how he lit it up, but he got one guard with it. So now he’s in a straitjacket. You reap what you sow.’
Hard to argue with that, but human rights were a thing for a reason.
Even prisoners didn’t deserve to be numbered and treated like cattle.
Unease stirred, and my conscience prickled.
Everyone here was here because they were vile: killers, rapists.
Yet I thought of Broadlake. His hands had cut me, but he hadn’t been the consciousness behind them.
All the same, he’d had nearly two decades here.
Mistakes could happen. Mistakes did happen.
There was no mistake with this witch though. I’d seen him murder his daughter with my own two eyes, and we’d found plenty of evidence of more crimes.
‘Pritchard,’ I said. ‘Take a stroll. Keep us in sight but be out of hearing range.’
He hesitated before nodding. ‘Erm … yes, Inspector Wise.’ He backed away a few feet, then a few more for good measure.
I turned back to Bolton. ‘I want to talk to you about the Domini.’
He looked absolutely delighted. ‘What do you want to know, Inspector?’
‘Everything.’
‘Now that is a broad request.’
I narrowed it down. ‘Tell me who you know is in it.’
He laughed. ‘Someone very close to you.’ He let his eyes linger on me before sliding off pointedly to look at Robbie.
‘Bullshit,’ I snorted. ‘Try to peddle some shit I’ll actually buy.’
He lifted a shoulder. ‘Worth a try. I do so love some discord.’ His smile was as sharp and unfriendly as a shark’s. ‘You’d be leaving shell-shocked and broken if I told you all I know, Wise.’
‘I can take it. Tell me.’
He stood and paced to the slot so only his face filled it.
‘Tell you, Inspector? Very well. Let me tell you about us. We, the Domini, call ourselves The Order, and we are presided over by the Arcane. There are twenty-six members of the Domini Conclave, including the Arcane, each a rich and powerful person in their own right, the best of their species. Of the sacred twenty-six, we each have people who operate under us, vast numbers stretching out like an unbeatable wave. Those who are lower and seek to grasp ever higher.’
‘It sounds chummy,’ I said drily. ‘Tell me more about the Conclave.’
I had no idea why he was feeling so chatty. Perhaps it was the pressure of his isolation getting to him, but whatever it was, I was grateful for it.
‘Conclave?’ He ground his teeth. ‘Very well. Each member of the Conclave of the Domini is allocated a letter of the alphabet, and they are known merely by that letter. Each Conclave member only knows the identity of one or two other members at any one time. The Domini operates in a cell-like structure, so if at any point we are compromised, only a few of us will be destroyed. Thus far, I can confirm that no such destruction has faced us. The red guard’s pathetic attempts to quash us have frankly been laughable.
We have survived for centuries. We existed before the Connection’s inception and will exist beyond it.
’ He sneered. Then he gasped, eyes widening.
The gasp wasn’t one of shock, but one of pain. I couldn’t see anything but his face in the slot.
‘What’s happening?’ I demanded. ‘What are you doing?’
He groaned and closed his eyes. His breathing became laboured.
‘Ah, yes,’ he panted. ‘Did I fail to mention one more little detail? We are unable to speak of the Order unless the Arcane has granted us express permission; otherwise the one who speaks of us will suffer an unspeakably painful oath death.’
‘Fuck!’ I whirled around to Pritchard. ‘He’s broken an oath! Open this door!’
Looking pale and panicky, Pritchard started to run to the door.
‘Too late,’ Shaun Bolton sneered. ‘Too late. You won’t be collecting any confidential informants, Inspector. It is the Domini or death. In this instance, I choose death.’
‘Goddamn you. You did this on purpose. You could have spoken about the Domini at any point in your sentence here. Why did you wait for me?’
He grinned even as he coughed and bright red blood spilled from his lips. ‘To pass a message. That was my duty.’
‘What message? To whom?’
‘To you, Inspector. Your father can’t save you now.’ He coughed again, and for the first time, he fell away from the slot, allowing me to see him. Thick black shadows covered his body.
An oath death, I thought in horror. ‘Ah shit,’ I said aloud.
The pulsing black shadows crept up his neck. He had seconds. Pritchard fumbled at the door, but he’d be too late. Shaun Bolton would be dead, and his name would be forever recorded in the book of oath breakers with a note of his ultimate shame.
If I could have got into his cell, I’d have killed him myself. A mercy death so his name wouldn’t be recorded in the book of oath breakers, if only for Amber. But there was no time for that either.
Bolton cried out. The shadows were at his neck and he rolled his eyes to meet mine. ‘You’re as dead as me, Inspector,’ he gasped. ‘The Order is coming for you.’
His body stiffened and with one last gasp the black shadows surged all over him. His chest ceased to move.
The thick pulsing shadows slowly stopped and sank inwards, coating his skin with their inky essence, painting his dead skin with proof of his betrayal.