Chapter 21
Chapter
Twenty-One
I didn’t have a plan, I simply needed a distraction. I was also curious as to how bad the Crushers’ situation was because if things had been different Nick could have been caught up in it. Maybe I could help in some way; I still wanted to maintain a reputation as a good citizen, even if Alexander MacTire was about to chop off my pretty little head for allowing such terrible harm to come to his nephew. And I’d liked Tommy; he’d struck me as a good guy who was doing his best under difficult circumstances.
When I turned the corner and crossed the invisible line that led to the Glebe, the level of devastation became obvious. Very little of the existing warehouse remained; only one wall was standing and the rest had collapsed in heaps, several of which were still aflame. A few water witches were in attendance, however, suggesting that the fires were under control and they were waiting for the last of them to burn out.
It was no surprise that there wasn’t any sign of Captain Montgomery or any other MET officers. Whatever had happened was over now and it was still the middle of the night. They’d probably return when dawn broke to continue their investigation – although it was possible I was giving Montgomery too much credit.
I cast a dispassionate eye over the scene. I wasn’t a huge fan of fire. Several of my fellow assassins used it to cleanse murder scenes of annoying scraps of evidence that could lead their way, but in my experience its effects were too unpredictable. Besides, the best assassins didn’t leave any evidence behind.
A group of people were huddling at the edge of what had once been the perimeter of the warehouse. From the hulking size of the figure at the end, one of them was Tommy, the foreman. I walked towards him, hoping for their sakes that there’d been few casualties.
Tommy was still standing, though he must have been exhausted. When I’d met him earlier it had been obvious he had worries but he’d been managing them; now his shoulders were hunched, his head was drooping and he seemed to have collapsed in on himself. It was hardly surprising; all his hard work and hours of toil had gone up in flames and he’d probably lost everything.
I sidled around the group, most of whom appeared to be employees who were lingering out of loyalty, and approached Tommy, trying to appear sympathetic without being pitying. ‘Hello again,’ I said softly.
He swung his head slowly towards me and blinked as if trying to place me. He was a shadow of the man I’d met. ‘I’m so sorry about what’s happened,’ I said.
He ran a hand over his head and shook himself. I wasn’t sure if he recognised me or cared who I was. ‘It’s all gone,’ he said desolately. ‘All of it. There’s nothing left.’
‘Was anybody hurt?’
‘A couple of the guys were taken to hospital with burns and minor injuries but they’ll be alright, thank goodness.’ He paused. ‘And there are a few more who need to have their stomachs pumped, but I’ve been told they’ll recover.’ His voice cracked. ‘This is all my fault.’
‘The contentment potion,’ I murmured. ‘In the coffee urn.’
Tommy’s head drooped. ‘We told them not to drink too much of the coffee, but with all the overtime…’
Uh-huh. ‘What happened?’
‘Several of my workers overdosed and went crazy. I didn’t notice anything was wrong at first – they were a bit louder than usual but I didn’t think anything of it. I only noticed when the shouting progressed to throwing things around. When I went to intervene, two of them took off to a different corner of the warehouse and decided to have some fun with fire.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Because they thought the flames were pretty.’
That was pretty much what I’d expected; there was such a thing as too much happiness. ‘You know it’s not their fault,’ I said, not unkindly.
He sagged even further. ‘I know,’ he muttered. ‘But the deadline…’ His voice drifted away. ‘The only reason I’m still here is because one of the church deacons is on his way to talk to me.’
‘Now? In the middle of the night?’
He nodded dully. Damn: he really was in the shit. ‘What can I do to help?’
‘Nothing. There’s nothing anyone can do.’ He turned away.
Even so, I stuck around. Given what I’d seen of Thane he’d sleep for hours, and I was strangely reluctant to waltz off and renew the hunt for Nick on my own. Besides, if we decided to focus on anyone who might sell forget-me-not spells, we’d have to wait until daylight to talk to them. I could spare an hour or two to help Tommy with the clean-up.
Tommy was a good guy who’d made bad decisions and in an odd way he reminded me of Quack – and nothing I’d done had helped her. Sifting through the burnt remains of a warehouse for an hour or two for anything that could be salvaged didn’t make up for her death, but something about the mindless physical work eased my tension – even though I was quickly covered in a layer of black soot.
Although most of the warehouse had been destroyed, it was surprising what had survived. I found a cache of tools covered in ash; if Tommy couldn’t get the Crushers up and running again at least he might be able to sell them and claw back a bit of money. Equipment like this could be costly and it was worth retrieving.
Some small fires were still burning and others had only recently been doused so the metal was too hot to touch. I brushed away as much of the ash as I could, then went over to a man who was working at a similar task. From his clothes, I surmised he was one of Tommy’s employees. ‘You’re not a coffee drinker, then?’ I said when I drew near.
He gave me a wan smile. ‘I’ve been avoiding caffeine since the summer. Wife’s orders. She thought I was drinking too much of the stuff so I promised I’d try and cut back. It’s probably one of the smartest things she’s ever made me do.’
I grimaced in sympathy. ‘I’ve found some tools back there. They’re in pretty good nick all things considered, but I can’t pick them up yet.’
He brightened slightly. ‘Great. Show me where they are and I’ll?—’
He didn’t get to finish his sentence because the shouting had already started where Tommy was. It didn’t take a genius to work out that one of the deacons for the Church of the Masked God had finally shown up to make his displeasure known.
I turned to watch. So did everyone else .
Although it was close to four o’clock in the morning, the deacon was dressed in full church regalia and didn’t have a hair out of place. I gazed at his moss-green cassock, the pristine white-lace collar around his neck, his bouncy brown hair and his upright figure; for a man who appeared to be in his fifties, he was the picture of rude health – until you took a closer look. I could have been mistaken but the little red bumps on his neck didn’t appear to be the result of a vigorous shaving routine: they were hives. The deacon was under far more stress than first impressions suggested.
‘You promised us completion by the solstice,’ he bellowed, as if the volume of his voice would encourage Tommy to snap out a salute and rush off to continue working despite having no materials, tools or energy. ‘We expect you to fulfil that promise or there will be consequences! There are six days to go and the tower isn’t finished. We need it done!’
The deacon was upset about something that was essentially little more than a cherry on top of a public-holiday cake. Why did it matter so much? It was out of character for the Church of the Masked God – and that made me uneasy.
‘We can’t finish it,’ Tommy said. ‘Everything has gone.’ He waved towards the smoking ruins. ‘All the materials we had to finish the job have burned.’
‘Buy more!’
‘There are no more. I already spoke to our supplier – if we want more wood to finish the tower, we’ll have to wait until after Christmas. There’s nothing I can do.’
‘You gave us your word! You know what you’ll forfeit if you don’t complete the project.’ The deacon’s tone was ominous enough to send a shudder through everyone watching.
‘I know,’ Tommy whispered. ‘But that doesn’t change the outcome.’ Horrifyingly, he lowered himself to his knees in an act of submission. ‘I am sorry. ’
Enough was enough; while it could be argued that he’d brought this on himself, there was no need for public humiliation. Any respect I’d had for the Church of the Masked God had well and truly dissolved.
I marched up to the deacon, my arms swinging and my fists clenched. ‘Why is this necessary?’ I demanded. ‘Why are you acting this way when you can see for yourself what’s happened here?’
‘Unless you work for this pathetic loser, this has nothing to do with you,’ he sneered.
I sucked in a breath and prepared to snap back, then I paused. My goal here was to make things better for Tommy, not worse, and I wouldn’t achieve anything by matching the deacon shout for shout.
‘I live nearby and I’m a part of the local community. I know how hard Tommy and the Crushers have been working to complete your project. It’s terrible that this has happened and he can’t finish on time, but is that really so bad? There’ll always be another solstice. I thought better of the Church of the Masked God than this.’
The deacon’s head jerked. ‘You’re one of our devotees?’
‘No, but I don’t need to be one of your followers to know that this sort of approach won’t endear you to anyone.’
‘Then fuck off,’ he muttered. ‘We don’t need some middle-aged Karen getting involved.’
A faint gasp rippled through the watchers and the deacon realised belatedly that he’d gone too far. ‘I apologise,’ he said stiffly. There was a flicker of regret in his dark eyes, although I wasn’t sure whether that was because he regretted the sentiment or saying it aloud.
He turned away but I wasn’t finished. I grabbed his elbow and forced him to swing back in my direction. ‘What’s this really about?’ I asked softly. My gaze drifted to the hives. ‘Why are you so upset about an unavoidable delay?’
The deacon’s chest was rising and falling rapidly and a vein was bulging in his forehead. He stared at me and then at the small crowd of onlookers before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled flyer. ‘This,’ he spat, and threw it at me. ‘This is what it’s about.’
I smoothed out the flyer and started to read. Life in the doldrums? Failed by your faith and their old routines? Why not do something different this solstice and join us at Crackendon Square at noon for a new beginning?
‘Demon worshippers,’ the deacon hissed. ‘They’re luring away our followers. They’ve said they’re doing something big for the solstice. Half my flock are planning to go and see what they’re up to instead of coming to the Masked God celebrations. We’ve had to make big promises to keep our followers engaged with us instead of with them.’
Like building a brand-new tower. It seemed like little more than a dick-waving contest. The Church of the Masked God shouldn’t have been afraid of competition – but then I remembered what Quack’s dying assassin had murmured about sacrifice. Perhaps there was more to this competitive spat than I’d realised.
‘Demon worshippers?’ asked somebody in the crowd with a derisive snort. ‘Really?’
‘You don’t understand,’ the deacon returned. ‘These are not good people.’
Others in the crowd were gaining confidence. ‘When was the last time anyone saw a demon?’ another person called out mockingly.
There was a ripple of amused snickers. I didn’t join in; instead I turned over the flyer and looked at the other side. There was a hand-drawn symbol of a bright red circle with a slash through it. I’d seen it before, spray painted onto the side of Lorna’s apartment building. And the assassin who’d taken Quack’s life had red paint staining his fingertips.
‘This is them?’ I asked the deacon, my voice dangerously quiet. ‘Who are they?’
‘They call themselves Umbra.’ His mouth thinned. ‘Like their name, they stick to the shadows. We don’t know who their leaders are, but we’ve seen enough to know that they have tried to invoke several demons in the past.’ He looked at the small crowd. ‘Just because no one in Coldstream has seen a demon for two hundred years doesn’t mean they no longer exist.’
‘You think this Umbra outfit is run by a demon ?’ I asked, horror beginning to supplant my disbelief. The deacon’s suspicions suddenly felt very real.
‘No, but we think they’re trying to conjure one into existence. And if that happens, the Masked God help us all. If Umbra gain enough followers, they will succeed.’
Ice-cold prickles ran down my spine.
Tommy, who had remained on his knees, staggered to his feet and stared over my shoulder at the flyer. ‘I’ve seen that symbol before,’ he muttered. ‘Somebody graffitied it onto the side of the warehouse. I thought it was kids but…’ His voice trailed off.
I raised my eyebrows at the deacon. ‘Maybe it wasn’t a contentment spell that caused the warehouse to burn down.’ I held up the flyer. ‘Maybe these people had a hand in what happened.’
The deacon hesitated, then wrinkled his nose. ‘You should all go home,’ he said finally. ‘There’s nothing more that can be done here.’ He turned to Tommy. ‘Get some rest. We’ll talk about what can be salvaged for the tower later.’ He nodded briefly to me then he marched away with considerably less energy than when he’d arrived .
Tommy was staring at me wide-eyed. ‘Do you really think it was arson and not the contentment spell?’
‘Oh, it was definitely the contentment spell,’ I said. I started walking away. ‘Do what the deacon said,’ I called out. ‘Go home and get some rest.’
And I broke into a run.