Bone Gods
inbred village,” Pete said acidly.
“I don’t hate you, you know,” Morningstar said gruffly. “Nor people like you.”
“Love the sinner?” Pete guessed.
“And burn the sin,” Morningstar agreed. He led Pete to the rear of the house, unlocking a door with a skeleton key he took from a ring in his pocket. “The Order of the Malleus is not what you think, Miss Caldecott. Despite your unfortunate first impression, we’re here to cure, not to torture. We kill as a last resort, to protect the Order.”
“Yes, well,” Pete said. “Some of us manage it without killing at all. ’M not going to pat you on the head.”
“How many people have you killed as a law officer?” Morningstar asked. “And how many do you think Mr. Winter caused the demise of before his misdeeds finally caught up with him?”
“We’ve been over this ground,” Pete said. “You found it full of pitfalls, remember?”
Morningstar gestured her through the open door but Pete balked. She wasn’t sure Morningstar wouldn’t simply shoot her in the back if she annoyed him excessively. “After you,” she said.
“Paranoia is an unfortunate side effect of magic on human brain tissue, you know.” Morningstar took a seat behind the sort of desk the headmaster of a snooty prep school would use. It suited him. Pete stood rather than use one of the straight-backed chairs facing Morningstar, as if she were a bloody truant. The office was surprisingly spare and far less grim than the rest of the Order’s house. One row of books paraded across the shelf behind Morningstar’s head, and an arty black and white of Hadrian’s Wall was the only decoration. Definitely a man’s office, a man spare and hard through all his deeds. Pete all at once didn’t feel so right about smashing his car.
“I’m careful,” she said. “And I learned that a long time before I admitted the Black was real.”
“Even so.” Morningstar put his feet on his desk. “The human mind was not meant to contain the energies of the Black. I strongly urge you to pull back before you do yourself permanent damage, Petunia.” Morningstar took a cigarette from a silver case at his elbow and lit it, but didn’t offer one to Pete.
“You’re one to talk about permanent damage,” Pete said, yanking Nasiri’s remaining photo from her bag and tossing it on Morningstar’s desk. “No need to send your boy, Ethan. I was coming for a chat anyway.”
“Oh?” Morningstar exhaled thin twin streams through his nose. “Regarding?”
“Let’s cut the shit, shall we?” Pete said. “Carver got killed working some nasty magic, yeah, but these cuts were made over years. And it wasn’t death magic being worked on him, it was something worse. He was arse deep in necromancy and you knew. What happened, Ethan? Did your dog break his chain?”
Ash grew on the end of Morningstar’s fag, forgotten. “You’ve learned a lot in a short time, Petunia. I’m impressed. But Gerard’s proclivities don’t concern you. He was one of us, sinner or not.”
“Did you know what he was doing?” Pete said. “Tell me the truth or I swear to your musty old god I’m going to break a lot more than your car.”
“I very much doubt that,” Morningstar said. Pete gritted her teeth. Morningstar didn’t seem the slightest bit uncomfortable that she was in his house. If anything, he appeared bored, smoking and loosening his tie as if she were a problem he wouldn’t have much trouble solving.
“I can’t help you if you won’t help me,” she tried.
Morningstar stubbed out his fag-end in a saucer. “I had an idea, yes. Gerard was a deep cover member of the Order. He had a talent. He had to use it occasionally. And necromancy … it’s seductive. So yes. I knew about his usage. What I don’t know is why he was killed, and that’s a concern. For you as well as for the Order.”
“I don’t mess with necromancers,” Pete said. “So really, I think I’m safe and sound.”
“All I want to do is help,” Morningstar said, slamming his hand down on the desk. Pete jumped. He stood, jabbing a fresh fag at her. “You, Gerard, everyone who’s gotten caught in the web. Who got tricked into believing in magic. You must get out before it burns you alive, Petunia. Your mother…”
“Leave my mother out of this,” Pete snarled. “You’ve already brainwashed her—is that not enough? You want the whole set of Caldecotts? I’ll have you ring up my sister, if that’s true.
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