“Did the Warden say something?”
I shook my head. “I… not exactly, no, but all of his stuff was gone, and his office had been totally cleared out.”
The Horseman paused. “What more did the Warden say?”
“Only that I should prepare myself for a long stay at Harrowgate. It wasn’t what he said, though, it was the way he said it. And he had that twitch in his eye… I don’t trust him.”
He turned around and headed for his desk, stopping once he’d reached it. “Why do you care about your case worker?”
“Why? Because he was the only person here who was trying to help me understand why I did what I did.”
“And that’s important?”
I stared at him, an eyebrow cocked. “I’ve been thrown into a prison for a crime I can only barely remember committing. I’m also never getting out of here, because you guys don’t believe in parole, let alone wrongful convictions. So, yes, knowing exactly why I’m here was something I aspired to. Wouldn’t it bother you if someone suddenly disappeared?”
He craned his head around his shoulder. “That happens here more than you know.” He paused. “You asked earlier why I hadn’t reached out to you in a week. The simple answer is, our working together aroused too much suspicion. I needed to put some distance.”
“Why don’t I buy that as the whole truth?”
“Because it isn’t, but it’s the only part that matters—should matter. I couldn’t risk a repeat of what happened last week.”
“You mean when your guard disobeyed your orders and threw me into a room to get killed by a werewolf?”
He turned around fully. “What he did was reprehensible, but unfortunately not uncommon. I don’t condone that practice, but the guards don’t all answer to me. That’s something which has been made more apparent to me as the last few nights have progressed.”
I walked up to him, slowly. “What do you mean?”
The Horseman sighed, deeply. “I was attacked last night.”
I stopped in my tracks. “Attacked? By who?”
“I’m still not entirely sure, but they were using these.” Without looking at me, he extended a hand. In his palm was a little object that caught what little ambient light existed in the room and glimmered with it.
I approached, carefully, and took it. It was a bullet. Nine millimeters. The kind loaded into a semi-automatic pistol, instead of a revolver. As I examined it, I noticed a strange marking on its tip. I also noticed, the more I touched it, the more the bullet seemed to buzz, like it was possessed of an electric current of its own.
“What is this?” I asked.
“It’s a bullet.”
“I can see that, Captain obvious. I mean, why is there a pyramid on the tip? And why does the bullet feel strange?”
The Horseman turned around and folded his arms in front of his chest. “The bullet is magic. I made it myself. Held within the shell is a powerful spell designed to prevent supernatural creatures from magically healing the wound, so long as the bullet remains embedded within them.”
“What the hell?”
“It will also, usually, bypass most protective shields, and once it’s inside a person it will slowly weaken them. Like a poison.”
I set the bullet down on the table. “And you let met touch that savage little thing?”
“There’s no need for alarm. The spell only triggers if the bullet penetrates skin.”
“Why are you showing me this?”
He took another deep breath, then released it. “Because the people who attacked me last night were using these.” When the Horseman stepped aside, I saw there were a bunch more bullets on his desk.
I nodded. “Well, I know the people who attacked you weren’t Crimson Hunters. They’d never use technology they didn’t make themselves. They definitely wouldn’t use another’s magic items.”
“They weren’t Crimson Hunters. I believe they are a group of mages and humans, hired by someone to try and kill me. Hired by who, I don’t know, but I have a lead.”
Someone hired to kill him.
Wait, someone else hired to kill him.
Someone… not me.
I didn’t doubt that there were people out there who wanted the Horseman dead. The Obsidian Order, for one. They had, after all, sent me in here to do just that. It wasn’t totally impossible to believe that the Order had switched to a different tactic to ensure the success of my mission, especially if Calder suddenly went missing and they lost contact with me.
Both of those things had happened.
But as the seconds ticked on, and I processed the idea in my mind, I couldn’t see Seline approving such a course of action. Having the Order directly, or indirectly, intervene with my mission was dangerous. Dangerous for them, and dangerous for me.
Assuming they believed I was still alive.
“What’s the lead?” I asked.
“The people who attacked me were wearing tattoos. Bleeding suns. I believe that’s the name of their organization, and I may have an idea of where to find them, but I needed to speak with you first.”
“Why me?”
“Because you have become the only person I can entrust with this, and because there’s more to the story… but I need to know you will not repeat what we speak of here.”
I swallowed hard. “I… I’d never do that.”
“There’s only one place these bullets can be acquired, and that’s here. At Harrowgate. There are no others like them because I am their designer and creator. I imbued each and every one of these bullets with my own essence. The magical signature on them is clear, and cannot be forged.”
“Wait… what are you saying?”
“I’m saying whoever hired those men to kill me has access to the ammunition storage, and that means they work for the Coalition. Someone within this organization wants me dead, and they’re using my own weapons against me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
My own heart thundered inside of my chest, but so was his. I could hear it. I could see his jugular bouncing with the accelerated beat. It was rare to catch the Horseman even a little bit off his game, so for me to be able to hear his heart skipping a little faster than usual was the Horseman equivalent of witnessing a panic attack.
This had rattled him, and I couldn’t blame him.
First, I was sent here to kill him by my own people. For all the things I’d been told he’d done, for all the crimes he had committed, the Obsidian Order wanted him dead. That had been my mission, and so far, you wouldn’t be wrong in saying I’d failed.
But now, hearing his own people wanted him dead—the very same people he’d committed his crimes in the name of, the same people he worked for? I couldn’t understand it. Everything he did, every action he took, only served to consolidate their power further, to make the Coalition stronger.
“Why would your own people want to kill you?” I asked.
“It probably won’t surprise you to know I don’t have many allies,” he said, “Only subordinates, most of them motivated by fear of what might happen to them if they crossed me.”