Page 16 of The City Of Fractured Memory

And whoever is wielding it seems to be hunting.

I open my mouth to press Maevick further when I hear the sound of boots hammering down the corridor.

Too many boots.

Seconds later, the door slams open with the crack of iron against stone and three wardens surge in, lantern light gleaming off the knives at their hips. Their hands hover near the weapons, eyes sharp with suspicion as their gazes fall on me. Behind them, with all the weight of inevitability, strides Chief Starling. His face is flushed with fury, sweat beading along his brow as though he’s sprinted just to relish this moment.

A wave of dizziness spreads behind my eyes as panic claws at me, realising what this must look like. I just let Stryx break into the damn Division with me. What was I thinking?

Starling has been waiting for this, for me to make one wrong step, one miscalculation, so he can snap the trap shut on me permanently. My fragile hope at getting my job back evaporates as I lock eyes with him and find only contempt staring back at me.

“No,” I whisper, already stepping back toward Stryx, who stands frozen, her glamour quivering like glass under pressure.

I take her hand to sooth her nerves and turn to glare at Maevick. “You treacherous Voyder. How?”

Maevick raises his hands, palms open, as though that might shield him from my venom. “How do you think?” he says, voice tight. “The morgue is spelled. Anyone not sanctioned to enter trips the wards and you are no longer welcome. The Chief knew the second you walked in here.”

“Convenient,” I spit, though Maevick’s excuses barely register. Spells or not, he’d let us walk straight into the gallows. My blood burns with the urge to lash out, to tear the smug mask off his face. But I feel Stryx trembling beside me, her illusion continuing to flicker at the edges like candlelight in a storm. If she loses control now, if they see her for what she truly is…no. I can’t risk it.

Starling steps forward, cutting across the brewing argument. The look in his eyes tells me everything. He isn’t here to seek justice. He’s here to bury me.

“Octavia Wren,” he says, his voice low and cold, clearly savouring every syllable like a judge passing a sentence. “You and your companion are under arrest, under suspicion of interfering with evidence, unlawful trespassing, and–” His lip curls. “–accomplice to murder.”

Ten

“What?” Stryx and I both exclaim in unison, the blood leeching from my face as I take in the shocking accusation. His words are iron chains wrapping tighter round my neck. It doesn’t matter that I’ve given everything, my career, my reputation, pieces of my very soul to solve murders he wouldn’t even look at. He would rather destroy me than admit I might be right.

My chest constricts, fury and disbelief sparking in equal measure. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am,” he replies, eyes glittering with smug satisfaction. “I warned you before, Wren. You see connections where there are none, and now you’ve broken into a morgue to tamper with corpses. You’ve gone too far.”

The wardens close in, their hands seizing me as cold iron bites into my wrists. I hold back my wince, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But humiliation sears hot in my chest all the same, tangled with a grief I can’t put a voice to.

Across from me, Stryx stiffens, her fingers slowly spreading like she’s intending to use her magic, but I shake my head, just enough for her to catch it. Not now.

“You wanted to be involved, Wren. Now you are. Directly.” The Chief’s voice is cruel and gloating. I bite down on the retort burning my tongue, that at least I am willing to get my hands dirty for the truth, unlike him. I swallow it, banking the fire. Rage will serve me better later when these shackles come off. And they will come off.

We are hauled from the morgue, the lifeless eyes of the victims staring sightlessly after us, silent witnesses to yet another injustice. Starling may think this is the end, but he’s wrong. This is only another cage.

And I’ve slipped out of worse.

“Lock her up until I’m done with our disgraced Detective,” Starling growls at the warden restraining Stryx as we are marched forcibly along the corridor. I try to reach for her, but I’m pulled back sharply by the warden behind me, the shackles sending piercing pain through my wrists as I struggle. I take one look at her trembling face and my eyes glaze with unshed tears, emotion like I’ve never felt, even before my magic use. It rises––angry and unchecked––to the surface.

“I am not responsible for murder,” I snarl. “But so help me, if you lay a finger on her, then I will be.”

The wardens all laugh at my threat and my temper ignites. I don’t recognise most of them so it’s unlikely they know much of me. Like most, they no doubt think I’m a small, weak mortal woman, barely capable of tying my own shoelaces, let alone harming someone. Yet here I am, accused of murder.

The irony.

Before I can do something I will definitely regret, Stryx and I are parted and I’m swept into Starling’s office and slammed down into the chair in front of his desk. My hip makes a cracking sound at the impact, but thankfully, it remains in its socket, though I can’t stop the wince that escapes me at the sharp burst of pain it causes. The warden pretends not to notice as he slides his hands through my cloak, groping me with little care as he fishes out the various items from my hidden pockets and slams them onto the desk. The more he removes, the more agitated I become, and my whole body starts to shake. My Shadow materialises beside me, watching with silent interest, a demon on my shoulder waiting for its next move.

Fight.

I try to shake off the order that floats ominously through my mind, but my attention is diverted as the small wooden box that houses my new talisman is thrown onto the table, and I’m powerless to stop him as the Chief picks it up with curiosity.

“Give that back,” I order, gritting my teeth as he slowly pries the box open and his eyes widen at the trinket inside.

“Your audacity knows no bounds, does it, Wren? Do you really think it wise to carry contraband with you when you’ve already been reprimanded for illegal magic use already?” Starling says, his tone a mockery of a frustrated parent talking down to a toddler. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that ring too, that’s a rare item indeed. I don’t think you realise how lucky you are that you only lost your job. By all rights, you should be incarcerated.”