Outcast, page 13
part #1 of The Grey Gates Series
By the time the twins had fully repaired the wards, sealing the breach as if it had never been there, the medics were loading Zoya onto a stretcher and the helicopter was descending from the air to collect her.
“Good work,” Max told the twins, and headed over to Zoya and the medics. “How is she?”
The other Marshal was covered in a light blanket, oxygen mask on her face, eyes closed. She didn’t look to be in pain. Perhaps the medics had knocked her out with something, or she had not woken up again.
“Fractured skull and a few other broken bones at least,” the female medic said. “We’re taking her to the central hospital for more scans. She’ll be there for a few days at least.”
Max’s throat tightened for a moment. Zoya hadn’t deserved this. Despite her forceful personality, her bones were just as fragile as any other human’s. And Max had failed to protect her. She put her hand on the other woman’s arm, gently. “Get well soon, hear me?” she told the other Marshal.
Zoya didn’t react, and Max watched as the medics carried her away, carefully lifting her into the helicopter, the female medic strapping Zoya’s stretcher securely into the vehicle while the man came back and collected their packs.
The helicopter lifted up into the air and was gone from view in moments, leaving behind shocking silence and the bloody mess of dead Harridans.
And she still had four warriors and two apprentices nearby. She turned to the warriors, who were maintaining their vigilance despite the restored wards.
“Thank you for your help,” she said to them.
Hop and Killan inclined their heads slightly. Gemma, manning the enormous gun, glared at her.
“The wards are repaired,” Max told Bryce. “I need to wait for the clean-up crew, but that’s all.”
“We’ll head back, then,” Bryce said. He hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, then turned to the others and signalled them to move out.
The warriors had their rocket launcher and gun dismantled and packed away in moments. They took time to collect their empty magazines and the shell casings they could find while Alexey and Sandrine took their seats in the back of the vehicle, the twins not acknowledging Max at all.
Max could not help wondering what tale the twins would tell their fellow apprentices back in the safety of the Order buildings.
While the others were busy, Gemma approached Max, expression tight.
“I know who you are,” the warrior said in a low voice, scowling. “I never understood what was so special about you. You’ve no right to be breathing, let alone wearing that badge.”
Max stared back at her, mind empty of words. It was not the first time someone from the Order had spoken to her with open contempt, and doubtless would not be the last, if she couldn’t manage to avoid them in the future. But it had been years since she had faced down that sort of open disgust. It did not matter, not one bit, what the Order or its warriors thought of her. Not one bit. Except that the sliver of hurt working its way through Max’s chest told her that was a lie.
“Gemma, we’re leaving now,” Bryce said.
The woman glared at Max for a moment more, and Max tensed, sensing the potential for violence. She had learned a lot in the years since she had been in the Order, but she doubted she was any match for a fully trained warrior. The violence never came. Gemma turned on her heel, stalking across to the vehicle.
With the twins taking up the entire back seat of the vehicle, Bryce and Hop were on foot behind the vehicle, Killan in the driver’s seat. Gemma took the front passenger seat. As the vehicle moved forward, Bryce glanced at Max with an expression she could not read, but didn’t say anything, simply following the vehicle away through the undergrowth.
Cas and Pol came to lean against her as silence fell. After the unwanted excitement of the day, it was oddly peaceful to just stand for a moment with her dogs, even with the two dead Harridan and the air thick with the stench of Harridan blood.
She stroked Pol’s silky soft ears and stroked Cas under his chin, in the spot he loved, as she took a long, deep breath, trying to set aside the vicious hate Gemma had shown, and all the unwanted, unsettled feelings that had risen up when dealing with the apprentices and being reminded of Radrean’s existence. She didn’t want the memories or feelings. She’d survived eight years on her own. She didn’t need any of them. She could only hope it would be another eight years before she had to deal with the Order again.
Chapter thirteen
After waiting by the wards for other Marshals to inspect the repairs, and for the division’s clean-up crew to collect the Harridan remains, it was late afternoon by the time Max pulled into the Marshals’ parking lot, Zoya’s vehicle dragging behind her own making the turn more difficult. As she drew to a halt, one of the mechanics lifted his head from the open bonnet of another battered pick-up. She waved to him as she got out of her pick-up, going to the back to release Zoya’s vehicle.
“Is that Zoya’s truck? Is she ok?” the mechanic asked, coming across.
“She took a bad hit,” Max said. “She’s in central hospital. I think she’s going to be alright, but it will take some time.”
“That’s a shame. She’s a fine lady,” the mechanic said. Despite the old-fashioned term, he was about the same age as Zoya, Max estimated. “Give me her keys. I’ll make sure her truck is ready for her.”
“Thank you,” Max said, handing over the keys. Zoya had left them in the ignition, as most Marshals did when they were working near the Wild. Being able to jump into your vehicle and quickly get up to a speed to outrun predators, or even just have the protection of a metal box, had saved more than one Marshal over the years.
Max found a parking spot for her own pick-up, let Cas and Pol out and then hefted the sack of spent cartridges, empty magazines and ammunition cages over her shoulder, heading for the larger building. Leonda would protest at the state of everything while also appreciating that Max had brought the things back. With the limited resources available to the city, reusing and re-purposing as many things as possible was essential.
Max emptied the contents of her sack into a large metal tray on the table left outside the armoury for that purpose. The armoury door was open, showing mostly empty shelves, although it was clear that Leonda and Raymund and their teams had been working hard to fill the empty spaces. Max gathered replacements for the ammunition and cartridges she had used, as well as a handful of cleaning spells, leaving even more empty spaces on the shelves, the sack across her shoulder weighing considerably more when she left the room.
Next to the armoury, the workshop door was closed - a necessary safety precaution when the team was working. The toughened glass windows in the wall showed Max a room full of people working. Leonda must have called every one of her team in, and borrowed a few from Raymund, too. All the workers were wearing protective heavy aprons, elbow-length gloves and face shields as they worked with the various bits of machinery to fashion new bullets or repair the Marshal’s weapons. At one end of the room, closer to the door, a pair of workers were filling magazines with swift, economic movements. Max watched for a moment, the process somehow soothing. Even working with rapid efficiency, the magazines still took far longer to fill than the mere seconds they took to empty when she used her gun. There was a trolley next to the two workers ready for the filled magazines, and a daunting stack of empty magazines and racks of new bullets to the other side, waiting for their attention.
Pol made a low sound beside her, alerting her to someone approaching. Not alarmed, just letting her know.
She turned and saw the familiar figure of the head Marshal moving slowly along the passage beside the workroom wall.
Faddei Lobanov looked like a heavyweight boxer, or someone that a nightclub owner would employ to throw out troublemakers. He was built of muscle, with broad shoulders and a bald head covered with apparently random tattoos. The appearance was deceiving, Max knew. He played up to his overall look, with the tattoos and casual clothing, but he was one of the most intelligent people she had ever met, and had a boundless thirst for knowledge.
Faddei had been one of the first Marshals in service to the city, and had taken more than his share of injuries. He had lost the lower part of one of his legs and three fingers on one hand, but had refused to retire, instead taking the position as the head of the service. His appointment had been before Max joined the service, and the stories she had been told of his confrontation with the city’s rulers grew more far-fetched and lurid each year. Whatever the truth, every Marshal knew that Faddei understood the dangers they faced in a way that most of the city’s rulers ever would. Even if the Marshals might question his orders from time to time - being sent to deal with supernatural predators required a considerable amount of independent thinking, and none of the Marshals, not just Max, took orders all that well - he was deeply respected and trusted by every one of them.
“Therese told me about the Harridans,” Faddei said, coming to stand beside Max, looking into the workroom with her. He was shorter than she was, his head barely reaching her shoulder. It always surprised her to realise that anew every time she was in his presence. He had a personality and aura far bigger than his physical form. “The breach is closed, yes?” He already knew that, as Max had called ahead when she was bringing Zoya’s vehicle back. But he liked to hear confirmation now and then. A checking in with his people, he had said more than once.
“Yes. The apprentices were useful after all,” Max said, not bothering to hide the sharp edge to her voice.
“I’ll want a full report on what happened,” he told her, not looking at her.
“If I ever get to my desk, I’ll be happy to write one,” Max said, wincing slightly as she realised her tone was sour and displeased, but not able to do anything about it. All the Marshals had been working hard, not just her. She didn’t expect or want special treatment, no matter what her tone of voice implied.
“It’s been a bad few weeks,” he said in an even, patient tone.
Max kept quiet. It had been a bad few weeks. Zoya was not the only Marshal who had been injured. And he had more to say. He had not simply come to find her to ask her about the breach. So she waited.
“Were you recognised?” he asked, after a long silence during which the two workers nearest to them had filled another half dozen magazines with shiny newly made bullets.
“Yes,” Max said.
Faddei was the only one of the Marshals who knew who and what she was, or had been. He had promised not to tell anyone else, and she trusted that promise.
“What do you want to do?” he asked her.
“I haven’t had a chance to consider it,” Max said honestly. “But at the moment, nothing. Kitris dismissed me from the Order so he can hardly complain that I’m working elsewhere.”
“His loss and our gain,” Faddei said, turning to look at her. There was a glint of humour in his dark eyes. “You are a good Marshal,” he told her.
The praise was unexpected, and she had no idea what to say to it. It warmed her all the way through, reaching back down to the eager-to-please, hard-working student she had been as a girl. None of her teachers then had given her anything close to that amount of praise. She did not think she was any better, or any worse, than the other Marshals. She tried to do what was assigned to her and stay out of trouble.
It wasn’t like Faddei to give out praise, and once the shock had settled, suspicion rose.
“Are you about to try to saddle me with a rookie to train?” she asked. They had gone through some spectacular arguments in her service as a Marshal. Even though she had made him promise she could work alone, and even knowing her background, and reasons for not wanting a partner or a trainee, Faddei still tried to request that she consider one from time to time. The last time, Max had threatened to quit. That had been two years ago, and he had not mentioned it since then.
“Not exactly,” he said.
“What, then?” she asked, irritation spiking. He had survived being head of the Marshals for a long time by being good at politics, something which Max had little patience for.
“There’s been another death in the city. Another human,” he told her, turning to face her, a frown gathering on his face. “Detective Passila has requested your help.”
“Has she, now?” Max folded her arms across her stomach, trying to quell the sick feeling that had started there.
“This one is like the second one. So she says.”
“Humans killing other humans isn’t our business,” Max said bluntly, chills running over her skin. Dark magic blood rituals possibly connected to Arkus were not something she wanted to get involved in. Or so she told herself. Firmly. Some instinct was telling her that this series of killings would trace back into the city, and she didn’t want anything to go there. She had left that all behind. Marshals worked on the fringes of civilisation, not in the middle of it. That suited her just fine.
She tried to squash the little voice in her mind, the little trail of guilt threading through her that reminded her of the two dead bodies she had seen. People killed to satisfy an unknown killer’s agenda. And now, it seemed, the killer had struck again. It might not be her job to track down the killer, but her conscience was prompting her to act. There might be something she could do.
“Now that the breach is sealed, we can spare you,” Faddei said.
Max glared at him. “You’ve already agreed, haven’t you?”
“She said you’d seen the previous two crime scenes and bodies. It doesn’t make sense to bring in someone else,” he answered her, sounding perfectly reasonable. “I thought you’d want to help,” he added.
Damn the man. He knew her far too well. Max was not feeling reasonable. Her temper spiked. “I don’t like it.”
“I know,” he said, surprising her. “But I also had a call from Audhilde. She wants you to see the third body as well.”
Max blinked, startled, her temper fading and the apprehension returning. Audhilde’s word carried a great deal of authority across the entire city, despite her apparently lowly position as medical examiner.
“Alright,” Max said, grudgingly. “I need to wash and fuel my truck, then I’ll head out. Did Ruutti give you an address?”
Faddei held a slip of paper out to her. Max recognised Therese’s handwriting, as blunt and no-nonsense as the woman herself.
Max turned on her heel, temper spiking again, and stalked away. Faddei did not follow. Wise man.
Chapter fourteen
Both Ruutti and Audhilde were still at the scene when Max arrived, Audhilde in a slim-fitting, dark blue tunic-and-trousers outfit that had probably cost more than Max’s house, Ruutti in her usual leather jacket and jeans. They were standing near each other, not talking or looking at each other. The crime scene techs around them were keeping their heads down, avoiding eye contact. Max could not help wondering what argument she had just missed.
“You asked for me?” Max came to a stop a few paces from them, and looked past them to the crime scene. It was still daylight, giving her a good view. There was no tent up over this one, and she could see the cracks in the concrete surface spreading out almost to where she had parked her pick-up.
The killer had chosen an old games court this time. A once-pristine and painted surface where youngsters had battled each other for the privilege of simply winning.
There were no children or indeed anyone else living in this area now, which was among the most run-down in the city. The few remaining buildings all looked vacant, the doors and windows blank spaces suggesting that there was nothing of value left inside to protect if even the window glass and doors had been taken.
The playing surface had been surrounded by tall, chain-link fences at some point. A few upright posts remained. Probably dug in too deep for the scavengers to take, Max guessed.
Roughly in the middle of the former games court was a dip in the ground and a too-still figure lying amid a series of symbols painted onto the surface. Even from this distance, Max could tell that the dead man had been cut like the others and the paint used had been his blood.
“Another one,” Ruutti said, face and voice grim.
“What did you learn about the others?” Max asked in return.
Ruutti’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “They had both been seen at various gatherings through the city and had been into the Sorcerer’s Mistress more than once. As far as I can tell, they had never actually met.”
“So apart from being magic users, and visiting the Sorcerer’s Mistress, there’s no connection so far?” Max asked.
“So far, yes,” Ruutti said. “I’ve got people questioning friends and neighbours, so we’ll see.”
“What about the bar? Anything there that might give us more information?” Max asked. It was their only point of connection so far.
“Nothing that will help this investigation,” Ruutti said. She was not looking at Max, or Audhilde, staring straight ahead. The odd phrasing caught Max’s attention and her brows lifted. She had no reason to suspect the detective of lying, but there was an undertone to her voice that made Max uneasy. Ruutti shook her head without looking at Max. Not wanting to discuss it.
All the same, Max considered Ruutti’s words and what she knew of the detective. Ruutti was one of the most competitive people she knew. If there had been anything in the Sorcerer’s Mistress to help her find the killer’s identity, Ruutti would have told Max.
Or so Max believed, based on what she knew of the detective.
“Do we know who this is?” Max asked, looking ahead.
