Unbroken Ties (Keeping Secrets 2)

Prologue

The car radio crackled, the newsreader's voice coming through in jarring bursts between the static. Crispin parked his car and groaned against the steering wheel. He stretched his arms out across the dashboard, his bones giving a satisfying pop. He switched off the radio, leaving only the gentle rumble of the car's engine, then fixed his attention on the white Georgian house across the road.

The residential street was empty despite the late evening. The street lamps flickered on, their pale glow outlining a solitary cat that slipped along the low walls enclosing the houses. In the distance, a dog started barking only to be cut off with a strangled yelp.

Crispin flicked one of the buttons on the door handle. With a low hum, the electric window lowered on the passenger side. The fresh damp air smelt of musty leaves and rain mixed with exhaust fumes. It surged in and chased away the artificial heat that had blown out of the car's slatted black vents since the airport.

Knowing he was still too early, he switched off his headlights and set his chair back to lie down. He folded his arms and allowed himself to sleep.

The alarm on his wristwatch beeped and his eyes flew open. He slid the leather chair into a seated position.

The streetlights along the paths now stood out like spotlights against the dark shadows. Reaching for a foam cup in the plastic mug holder, Crispin sipped the stale coffee and popped a salty peanut into his mouth. He chewed and watched as people began to arrive in sleek cars with blacked-out windows. One-by-one they stopped outside the white house, groups of people slipped out, giving sharp cursory glances around before hurrying inside. Crispin could feel the magic crackling around them; they wore it like a protective coat against the chilly air.

He waited until the last person dashed inside with a fervent look at her watch before he unfolded himself from the driver's seat and shrugged into his charcoal suit jacket. Whistling, he strolled up the path to the front door. He stretched his stiff arms over his head and inhaled deeply.

The front entrance was poorly secured; with relative ease he pulled down the protective spells and jimmied the lock. The door whined on its hinges. The light in the hallway was subdued. A warm orange glow radiated from a giant fireplace and little red tea-lights flickered on the stairs. Larger candles floated in the air close to his face. He batted them aside with a snort.

The door to the side of the hall was wide open; inside the room was a well decorated library with old bookshelves packed full of leather books. Dark panelling covered the bottom half of the walls. There were more candles on the windowsills and down the length of the large mahogany table where everyone had gathered.

Along with the smoky haze, there was a cloying smell of expensive perfumes and colognes that caught in the back of his throat.

He slipped inside, completely unnoticed, and leaned up against the wall. He'd always imagined the wizards of the Council would be a formidable sight, yet there was nothing but pompous doughy men and women here. One woman's attention was fixed on her phone; she rolled her thumb over the screen and the glowing light flickered over the drooping eyelids of the people sitting next to her.

The atmosphere surrounding the Council was subdued; only one person was speaking. Crispin studied him with a frown; he was young and short, with blond hair, sickly pale features and high cheekbones that set his default expression to a wide, mocking grin. He was lounging back in a large chair at the top of the table.

"I have called this meeting to continue where we left off, exterminating the werewolf vermin -"

"What authority do you have to call a meeting?" the man closest to him asked. He was an elderly wizard, with a grey well-trimmed moustache and bald head. The candlelight glinted off the square frames of his glasses.

"I am my father's natural successor," the blond man said through gritted teeth. He leaned forward in his chair, almost standing due to his small stature to loom over the bald wizard.

"Successor? It doesn't work that way, Seth. You are voted into the position of Council leader," the old wizard said. He cleared his throat and glanced around. Several other people nodded and some murmured words of encouragement. "After the utter disgrace that has befallen the Bloodworths with Sebastian's incarceration, I hardly believe you are a suitable replacement."

"Why? Does someone else want it?" Seth narrowed his eyes.

No one in the room spoke. The woman on her phone pushed it aside, the fading glow bouncing off her startled expression and the shaking heads of several other wizards. Crispin rolled his eyes.

Seth's leering smile widened. "Do you want it, Lerwick?"

He turned back to the old man, who pressed his thin lips into a hard line and glared at Seth from under his bushy eyebrows. He said nothing.

"Then it's settled." Seth clapped his hands. "First, the werewolf sympathiser, Temperance Levinthal; she needs to be dealt with."

Crispin sighed and reached into his pocket. Everything had happened just as he'd expected it would; she was in danger on all fronts. He moved around to the back of Seth's chair. The candles flickered with the displaced air.

"That bitch is -" Seth sucked in a sharp breath.

His hands clenched around the chair's cushioned armrests, his nails piercing the velvet cover, digging into the foam padding beneath. The black tacks, holding it all in place, lifted. Chairs screeched over the polished wooden floorboards as people lurched away from him. One of the women started screaming; she cupped her eyes with her hands and turned away, gagging.

There was a blood-streaked knife sticking out of Seth's chest; it slashed upwards, once, and then withdrew. He coughed and blood spurted out onto the table. Seth's eyes widened, his breathing turned to a laboured wheeze, blood poured down into his lap, pooling in the folds of his trousers. After a moment, he slumped forward, his head thumping against the wood.

Crispin cleared his throat. He allowed the wizards to finally notice him as he strolled out to stand beside the crumpled body. He opened his bloody hand and the knife dropped blade first onto the table with a thud.

"In business, we call this a hostile takeover."

He grabbed Seth by the shoulder and tipped him out of his chair to land in a heap on the floor. Stepping over him, Crispin settled into the seat. He clasped his hands together, leaning his arms on the table.

In a low voice that carried to everyone, he said, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am your new Council leader."

The wizards were clustered together, pressed up against the bookcases, at the furthest end of the room. All of them were staring at him with frozen, shocked expressions.

"How dare you!" Lerwick pushed his way to the front of the wizards. He raised his hand and blue sparks sizzled over his skin, crackling in the air. Two more wizards stepped forward to join him, their bodies covered in black fire that charred the wood beneath their feet. Snapping out of their stupor the rest of the Council spread out behind them, feeding them magic and making the fires surge up and dart towards Crispin.

Crispin sighed, "Oh please, spare me your pathetic efforts."

He flicked his fingers; the fires fizzled out and the three men were thrown backwards to slam into the bookcase. The wood splintered from the force and many of the heavy leather books tumbled down onto their heads. Lerwick hunched forward with a groan and squinted up at Crispin with one eye, his face a mask of pain.

"Who are you?" he asked, sweat dripping down his forehead.

All eyes were riveted on Crispin. His grin widened. "Crispin Levinthal."

He licked his thumb and reached forward to pinch out the nearest candle flame. There was a hiss and grey smoke curled up away from his fingers.

"Someone turn on the lights so we can start this meeting."