Magic caused the war. Magic is forbidden. Magic will save us. The Relic Guild is the award nominated first book in The Relic Guild trilogy.
It was said the Labyrinth had once been the great meeting place, a sprawling city at the heart of an endless...
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Inside the police building in the northern district of Labrys Town, Clara sat alone in an interrogation room. It was a cold room, intimidating – its floor, walls and ceiling all made of smooth grey stone. Clara faced a door that was closed and locked, and lacked windows. A single eye was fixed to the wall to her left. The milky fluid stirred gently inside it: a sure sign that the eye was active, watching Clara with a piercing stare.
She sat on an uncomfortable metal chair before a metal table. Her hands were in her lap, her wrists bound by thick cuffs, and rain water dripped from her ill-fitting clothes. On the opposite side of the table were two more chairs; these were made of wood with padded backs and seats. Deliberately set up like an unwanted guest, Clara kept her expression neutral for the eye on the wall, though she rubbed at the ache where the patrolwoman's baton had bruised her thigh.
She had only wanted to get her medicine, to change out of a dead man's clothes, and then to try and make sense of the last few nights' events. Instead, in the space of an hour, she had escaped the Great Labyrinth only to be caught by the police. Where was her mysterious guardian angel now?
Marney's kiss still tingled upon Clara's lips.
At least she had got as far as taking her medicine; at least she had some control over the inner monster ... for a while.
The door opened. A man and woman entered the interrogation room. The woman was street patrol. Stocky and broad, she carried her receptor helmet under one arm. Her hair was shaved close to the scalp, her eyes were dark and humourless. Clara recognised her scent – she was the one who had accosted her outside the Lazy House. The baton hung at the officer's waist, but she carried no gun.
The man, however, had a pistol holstered at his hip. His receding hair was slicked back, and he wore round glasses, the lenses of which were tinted enough to hide the colour of his eyes. The skin of his angular face was as tight and smooth as the press of his pristine uniform. He carried an air of authority, and Clara knew who he was: Captain Jeter, the head of the Labrys Town Police Force.
Clara clamped her jaw and squeezed her hands into fists in her lap. She had endured plenty of run-ins with the police in her time, but never had she gained the attention of the captain.
Jeter slipped Clara's medicine tin from his pocket and rattled the tablets inside before placing it on the table with a crisp snap. He then took a seat while the policewoman remained standing beside him.
'Peppercorn Clara,' he said. His voice was low, soft almost. 'You have quite the reputation.'
'So I hear,' Clara said as casually as she could.
Jeter offered a small, cold smile. The policewoman simply stared at Clara, almost certainly contemptuous of her profession.
Jeter tapped the medicine tin with a finger. 'Would you mind telling me what these tablets are for?'
