time for cooking now.’
‘Wasn’t the idea you’d rest more?’
‘Cooking is relaxing.’
‘Sounds more like piles of dirty pots and pans to me.’ I hesitated, then asked, ‘Did you hear about Maya Velkov?’
Orella shrugged a small shoulder. ‘I heard of her plans to expand her business.’
‘Did you know she was Cloete’s mother?’
‘I did. But Cloete was a good girl anyway.’
‘Why do you think Velkov is making this move now?’ I persisted. ‘She cornered me at Growler’s and seemed pretty confident she could get Blackgoat’s Runners to join her.’
‘I'm not sure.’ Orella lifted the spoon, loaded with seasoned beans and beef, and took a tentative taste. ‘Maya Velkov has always wanted more than her lot in life. Maybe she finally found someone with deep enough pockets to help her achieve that.’ Orella licked her lips and picked up a pot of dried herbs on the bench. Popping the lid, she sprinkled in a pinch. ‘Runners don’t work for love, after all.’
‘And what about Cloete?’ I asked quietly.
Orella took another taste before lowering the spoon with a satisfied look. ‘I think when we enter uncertain times, it is best to keep our minds open.’ She wiped her hands on her skirts. ‘How is your current job going? The one with the actress?’
My hands crept into my armpits. ‘Work would be great if it wasn’t for the clients.’
‘Well. At least this one is still alive, yes?’ Orella chuckled.
‘I wish I had a good job. One that would raise my profile and clean up my image,’ I complained, my fingers escaping my armpits and inching towards the cornbread again.
‘Those kind of jobs usually need some craft work.’ Orella fixed me with her good eye. ‘And the ley-lines are still a little unsettled. You remember what it was like just last month? Whenever anyone used the craft, spells came out wrong.’ She pressed fingertips against her chest. ‘I can feel the lines, fixed back in their anchors, but still swaying too wildly. Spells will still be unpredictable, and that is not a good thing, especially for you. You’re unpredictable enough.’ She hesitated, then nodded towards the back door. ‘You have a visitor.’
‘Who?’ I moved to where I could see more of the courtyard. I could just make out Crowhurst’s back to the left of the door, talking to someone out of sight.
‘I think you know.’ Orella broke a piece of cornbread and passed it to me. When I took it, Orella held on a moment. ‘Be careful, Lora. Make sure you know what you’re doing. Just because you feel strongly about someone, doesn’t mean they’re the best thing for you.’
She let go and I stuffed the cornbread in my mouth, saving me from reply. I knew she was talking about Roman. He was here. Excitement tickled me, feather-light. He’d actually come to Blackgoat Watch to see me. I pulled at my outfit, suddenly self-conscious. I was wearing grey pants and a button up shirt, with a navy corset that had seen better days. My coat was plain, and my work-belt hung loose. I momentarily wished I'd worn sexier shoes than my Tanker boots. I leant my cane against the kitchen bench, and walked into the courtyard. The Runners at the table watched me with speculative looks. I ignored them, my eyes only for who Crowhurst was talking to.
Roman was what you’d call broodingly handsome, with black nephilim eyes, pinpricked with white pupils. His dark hair was cropped short and black rune tattoos marked one side of his face. Once, I'd asked him what the tattoos meant and he’d told me they were a prayer to the One True God, written in the language of angels.
He wore his Regulator uniform: heavy leather armour strapped together with tarnished brass buckles and a sword sheathed at his spine. Silver daggers crossed his chest, and a grey cloak hung from his broad shoulders. Roman was a Sergeant within the Order of Guides, and commander of a Witch Hunter unit: Regulators who patrolled the streets for heretics and
‘Wasn’t the idea you’d rest more?’
‘Cooking is relaxing.’
‘Sounds more like piles of dirty pots and pans to me.’ I hesitated, then asked, ‘Did you hear about Maya Velkov?’
Orella shrugged a small shoulder. ‘I heard of her plans to expand her business.’
‘Did you know she was Cloete’s mother?’
‘I did. But Cloete was a good girl anyway.’
‘Why do you think Velkov is making this move now?’ I persisted. ‘She cornered me at Growler’s and seemed pretty confident she could get Blackgoat’s Runners to join her.’
‘I'm not sure.’ Orella lifted the spoon, loaded with seasoned beans and beef, and took a tentative taste. ‘Maya Velkov has always wanted more than her lot in life. Maybe she finally found someone with deep enough pockets to help her achieve that.’ Orella licked her lips and picked up a pot of dried herbs on the bench. Popping the lid, she sprinkled in a pinch. ‘Runners don’t work for love, after all.’
‘And what about Cloete?’ I asked quietly.
Orella took another taste before lowering the spoon with a satisfied look. ‘I think when we enter uncertain times, it is best to keep our minds open.’ She wiped her hands on her skirts. ‘How is your current job going? The one with the actress?’
My hands crept into my armpits. ‘Work would be great if it wasn’t for the clients.’
‘Well. At least this one is still alive, yes?’ Orella chuckled.
‘I wish I had a good job. One that would raise my profile and clean up my image,’ I complained, my fingers escaping my armpits and inching towards the cornbread again.
‘Those kind of jobs usually need some craft work.’ Orella fixed me with her good eye. ‘And the ley-lines are still a little unsettled. You remember what it was like just last month? Whenever anyone used the craft, spells came out wrong.’ She pressed fingertips against her chest. ‘I can feel the lines, fixed back in their anchors, but still swaying too wildly. Spells will still be unpredictable, and that is not a good thing, especially for you. You’re unpredictable enough.’ She hesitated, then nodded towards the back door. ‘You have a visitor.’
‘Who?’ I moved to where I could see more of the courtyard. I could just make out Crowhurst’s back to the left of the door, talking to someone out of sight.
‘I think you know.’ Orella broke a piece of cornbread and passed it to me. When I took it, Orella held on a moment. ‘Be careful, Lora. Make sure you know what you’re doing. Just because you feel strongly about someone, doesn’t mean they’re the best thing for you.’
She let go and I stuffed the cornbread in my mouth, saving me from reply. I knew she was talking about Roman. He was here. Excitement tickled me, feather-light. He’d actually come to Blackgoat Watch to see me. I pulled at my outfit, suddenly self-conscious. I was wearing grey pants and a button up shirt, with a navy corset that had seen better days. My coat was plain, and my work-belt hung loose. I momentarily wished I'd worn sexier shoes than my Tanker boots. I leant my cane against the kitchen bench, and walked into the courtyard. The Runners at the table watched me with speculative looks. I ignored them, my eyes only for who Crowhurst was talking to.
Roman was what you’d call broodingly handsome, with black nephilim eyes, pinpricked with white pupils. His dark hair was cropped short and black rune tattoos marked one side of his face. Once, I'd asked him what the tattoos meant and he’d told me they were a prayer to the One True God, written in the language of angels.
He wore his Regulator uniform: heavy leather armour strapped together with tarnished brass buckles and a sword sheathed at his spine. Silver daggers crossed his chest, and a grey cloak hung from his broad shoulders. Roman was a Sergeant within the Order of Guides, and commander of a Witch Hunter unit: Regulators who patrolled the streets for heretics and
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