Simon frowned at the apothecary. “If you’re quite done, I believe we need to have another strategy session back at the inn.”
Simon brushed past his friend, not noticing the smirk on Luthor’s face.
Luthor looked out the window but hardly acknowledged the soft glow of the streetlamps. His mind was elsewhere.
“I think it’s safe to assume that this whole plan has gone tits up,” he remarked without turning around. “Gideon will be blocking the zeppelin dock by now, not that there’s a scheduled flight for some time. He’s blocked the telegraph office, so we can’t call for help. I’m sure he’s surrounded the estate with a plethora of minions, making himself inaccessible. To top it all off, our own army has turned tail, so to speak, and left us in the cold. Rubbish, this whole speech didn’t sound so full of clichés when I was thinking it through.”
Simon laughed as he took inventory of the few belongings he removed from his over-the-shoulder bag. Nothing seemed glaringly helpful, mostly articles of clothing and a few notebooks.
“I won’t misdirect you, Luthor,” Simon said as he neatly folded his clothes and placed them back in the bag, “the situation most certainly appears grim. However, there’s always an answer if one looks hard enough.”
Luthor turned from the window and walked over to the bed. “What exactly is our answer here, sir?”
Simon looked up from his belongings. “Well, I don’t know just yet, do I? I haven’t had enough time to look quite hard enough.”
Luthor threw up his arms in disgust. He walked over to his doctor’s bag and opened it, sifting through the chemicals even though he knew each of them by heart.
“The answer lies with Gideon Dosett,” Simon explained. “Destroy him and his spell will be broken.”
“And how, pray tell, do we destroy this demon?” Luthor asked sarcastically. “Shall we march up to the gates of the governor’s estate and kindly ask him to join us for tea?”
“Sarcasm is very unbecoming of a gentlemen, Luthor. At any rate, you’re the expert on mythology and the mystical. What do your books tell you about destroying a demon?”
Luthor frowned, though he knew every possible reference to defeating demons by heart. “They’re susceptible to silver, like the werewolves were thought to be. Depending on whether we’re dealing with a demon or devil depends on the effectiveness of holy relics like blessed water.”
“You believe this to be a demon, though?”
“Firmly, sir,” Luthor replied.
Simon shrugged. “Then we’ll need access to more silver.”
“Silver, I might add, that proved completely ineffective against the werewolves, whose mythology much more strongly supported its use as an effective means of destroying the creatures.”
“We won’t know until we try,” Simon replied with infuriating calm.
“We still don’t have a means to reach Gideon, but I know what the answer has to be for what to do next,” the apothecary said. “We try our best not to cause grievous injury to those guarding the telegraph office, but one way or another, we send out our request for reinforcements. With the Inquisitors’ support, we stand a chance of storming the estate.”
Simon shook his head. “I can’t justify severely injuring or killing innocent men who are guilty of nothing other than having their mind controlled by a demon.”
“You know, sir, I’m starting to think that all these people—Gideon, Mattie, Kidnip—are all correct. You truly are an atrocious Inquisitor. What Inquisitor places the lives of six people over the opportunity to kill a demon?”
Simon turned brusquely toward his friend, his calm quickly replaced by barely contained rage. “Do not mistake my compassion for a lack of dedication to my craft. Unlike you, whom I might add sounds deliriously like a Pellite, spouting your nonsense about the ends justifying the means, I was trained to examine all possible outcomes and pick a course of action that minimizes civilian casualties. Until I am absolutely satisfied that killing or maiming those men is completely necessary, I won’t authorize that plan. Do I make myself clear?”
Luthor was stung by Simon’s sharp retort but quickly regained his composure. “Abundantly, sir. If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll take a walk and let the winter air cool my blood.”
“I think that’s a brilliant plan.”
Luthor angrily pulled on his long coat and retrieved his cane and hat before walking out of the door. His feet echoed loudly on the wooden steps as he strolled downstairs. It wasn’t yet obscenely late and the tavern was still half-full of drinking patrons. They barely gave Luthor a glance as he walked out, and the bartender offered only a nod of his head.
As he stepped outside, he realized how frigidly cold the night had become. Though the walls blocked the howling wind, the air was a stagnant cold that settled over him like a wet blanket. He pulled his coat tightly around his torso and turned away from the inn, choosing a direction at random.
The streets were mostly empty, though he knew the catacombs beneath the city would be livelier, out of the chilly night’s air. The few people he passed eyed him as warily as he watched them, neither sure of the other’s intent. Despite his obvious concerns, everyone passed by him without incident, intent only on returning to their homes.
When he was far enough away from the inn, Luthor glanced over his shoulder to make certain no one was around to hear him. The inn was no longer visible and the streets both in front and behind him were empty.
“I truly wish I could just tell him the truth,” he muttered to himself. “It would make life infinitely simpler if I could just tell him that I belong to the Cabal and that he should take my advice on all things demon related. Instead, I’m treated as a second-rate citizen whose advice always seems to be given but never asked for.”
His personal monologue made him more frustrated. As he walked, Luthor wished there was a loose rock or piece of debris he could kick. Though Simon was opposed, it would have made him far happier to release some frustration subduing armed guards at the telegraph office.
After a few more steps, Luthor paused. He didn’t know exactly why, but he knew immediately that something was amiss. He turned slowly, examining the nearby buildings and looking up and down the streets, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.
“Hello?” he said, immediately cursing himself for sounding so juvenile. A killer certainly wouldn’t respond to his query.
He took a few more steps but could feel the eyes upon him once more. Luthor stopped and turned around slowly again, but he still saw nothing and no one. He was, for all intents and purposes, alone on the street. Except that he knew that wasn’t true at all; he wasn’t alone, he just couldn’t see his pursuer.
He tightened his grip on his cane, shifting its pommel until his thumb was resting on the button that released the hidden blade. He walked forward slowly, letting his cane clack loudly on the cobblestone street. From within himself, he began channeling his magic, ready to call down an eldritch blast on whoever revealed themselves.
A rattle of a pebble bouncing against the stones of the road sounded behind him. He spun quickly, drawing the sword from his cane in a fluid motion. In the street behind him, a dirt-covered naked woman stood in the middle of the road. Her arms hung limply by her side and curly locks of muddy, red hair concealed her facial features.
Luthor quickly glanced away, while keeping her in view through his periphery. “Madam, you appear to be quite in the buff. Are you in need of help?”
He waited for an answer but heard none. Slowly, he turned his head back toward the naked woman. She stood impassively in the middle of the road, unmoved since her first startling appearance.
“Madam?” he asked again. “Are you hurt? I could contact the constabulary if you are in need of assistance.”
The woman slowly raised her head, and her hair parted around her face. Luthor cursed himself for being so stupid, having not recognized Mattie by her locks of
red hair alone.
“Mattie? Are you all right?”
He took a step toward her but paused as he heard a low growl rolling down the street.
“Mattie, I don’t know what happened, but you seem to be in need. Come back to the inn with me, and we’ll get you properly bathed and clothed.”
He looked at the blade, the tip of which was still pointed threateningly toward Mattie, and gently lowered the sword. His gesture was met with a more savage growl than the one before.
Though he dreaded admitting the truth, even to himself, Luthor knew what he was facing. Her few movements had seemed stiff and unnatural. She obviously didn’t recognize Luthor, though they had spent some involved moments together at her village. Even in the dim glow of the street lamps, he could see her wide, wild eyes staring through him rather than at him.
She was a thrall.
“Mattie, I can help you,” he said nervously. He didn’t want to hurt her but saw few other options if she attacked. “Come with me and I can break Gideon’s spell.”
At the mention of his name, Mattie tilted her head back and howled into the still night air. The tips of her fingers spread wide at her side. The fingers elongated and thick bone claws emerged from the tips. Her clawed hands tore her flesh from her chin to her groin. She thrust her bloody claws into the wound and pulled the skin apart, peeling away her dirty flesh in a single animalistic pull.
The werewolf stood in her stead, even as the tattered remains of her former skin drifted lazily to the road. Her lips pulled back as she growled, exposing rows of dangerously pointed teeth.
Luthor raised his sword again but held his other hand aloft, exposing the empty palm. “I don’t want to do this. Don’t force my hand by coming any closer. If you do, I’m going to have to do something we’ll both regret.”
Mattie snarled before charging at him, her teeth bared and claws extended, clearly intent on eviscerating the apothecary where he stood.
Mattie charged at Luthor, her claws extended and mouth agape, showing long, pointed canines. Luthor raised his sword again, though his hand shook.
“Stop this madness,” he yelled in an attempt to be heard over her guttural growling. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”
She didn’t hesitate in her charge. Froth formed in the corners of her mouth as she closed the distance to her prey.
The tip of Luthor’s blade wavered with uncertainty as his mind debated the finer points of harming Mattie in an attempt to preserve his own well-being. Sensing his weakness, she increased her speed, nearly dropping to all fours as she reached Luthor.
A single gunshot rang out, splitting the night air and silencing Mattie’s incessant growling. The round tore through her shoulder, spinning her madly from the bullet’s momentum. Her feet tangled around one another and she collapsed hard onto the cobblestones, sliding to a halt at Luthor’s feet. The werewolf looked up at him confusedly as bright red blood began to stain the fur on her left shoulder. Luthor pointed his blade at her but looked as equally confused.
“For God’s sake, Luthor,” Simon reprimanded as he hurried down the street toward the pair. “Knock her unconscious before she gets her bearings and actually decides to devour you.”
Luthor looked at his mentor, but his thoughts were disconnected from his actions. He was struggling to piece together all that had transpired during his short evening walk.
Simon reached his side and pushed Luthor out of the way just as Mattie placed a fur-covered hand on the ground and attempted to stand. Simon reared back and lashed out with his booted foot. The toe of his shoe connected solidly with the werewolf’s temple. Mattie’s head rocked to the side and her eyes fluttered backward as she slumped to the ground.
As she slipped into unconsciousness, the concentration necessary to maintain her transformation failed. The fur began to slough off her in droves, spilling into the street around her like gelatin. It lost its consistency shortly thereafter and the stones around her once again naked body became slick with viscous filth.
Luthor’s mind finally came to terms with the situation as he looked down on her unconscious body. An angry purple welt was already forming against her temple, and blood still seeped from the bullet wound in the delicate skin of her shoulder.
“What the bloody hell did you do?” he demanded as he knelt down beside her. “This is Mattie. You shot her, not to mention kicking her in the head.”
Simon shook his head reproachfully. “My good man, I don’t care if she was the Queen of Khovus, she was trying to eat you. I did what was necessary.”
Simon’s gaze trailed past the apothecary to the naked redhead sprawled across the cold street. He quickly turned his head away and coughed politely. “It does appear that she’s quite naked.”
Luthor was already removing his long coat, which he draped over her body. Lifting her gently, he wrapped the jacket fully around her to try to stave off the cold.
“Will you quit being so damnably proper and help me lift her?” Luthor demanded. “We have to get her back to the inn.”
“We’re not taking a savage monster intent on our destruction back to our living quarters.”
Luthor cradled her in his arms but glared sternly at his mentor. “Yes, sir, we are. I can create another concoction like the one I used on you to break the demon’s hold. I cannot, however, do much of anything worthwhile so long as she is lying limply on the cobblestones.”
Simon bent down and grabbed her legs gingerly, though he appeared squeamish at the touch of her soft skin.
“Were you not the one who was staring blatantly as the entire tribe transformed earlier?” Luthor chided.
Simon cleared his throat. “I was, but that was merely an investigation for scientific purposes. It’s something quite different when I know the subject personally.”
Together, they lifted her and began walking briskly back toward the inn. Luthor’s shorter legs had trouble keeping up with Simon’s long strides, and he moved in constant fear of dropping Mattie’s shoulders. As he shifted his grip, he felt her squirm uncomfortably as he pressed against her wound.
“I don’t have a very good grip, sir,” Luthor warned.
“Then find a good one because I won’t let you drop our patient before we get a chance to treat her properly.”
Luthor flushed angrily. “She’s only our patient because you shot and kicked her.”
They both glanced toward a storefront and noticed an elderly woman watching the two men confusedly. Simon released Mattie’s legs with one hand and tipped his hat to her before they hurried past.
“We’re here,” Simon said as he pushed open the tavern’s front door. The bell above the door chimed as they entered, and the few patrons within the tavern looked startled by their appearance.
They paused just inside the door as the entire room held their collective breathes. Simon glanced from face to face as he tried to judge their obviously worrisome expressions. Near the back of the room, a man pushed away from the table, his chair scraping on the wooden floor.
Simon stooped over and gently rested Mattie’s legs on the ground. He stood again with both hands splayed before him disarmingly. “Gentlemen, there is nothing for which to be alarmed. I am a trained doctor and this woman is in need of care.”
“That’s not what it looks like to me,” the burly worker said as he stepped around his table. “Looks to me like you’ve got a young poppet and are planning some immoral things between the both of you.”
“I’ve never, sir!” Simon replied.
He wanted to tell the man that he was a Royal Inquisitor, which would have been enough of an excuse for them to continue, but he was hesitant to reveal their identities. If word were to spread of the whereabouts of the Inquisitor, Gideon would send his hordes after them both this very night.
“This woman is in my charge as a physician,” he continued. “She’s been shot and assaulted, and I intend to treat her injuries.”
The stocky man stopped before Simon and scowled. He
was quite a bit taller than the Inquisitor was and had a significant weight advantage, most of which was corded muscle from working in the nearby mines.
“I think you ought to leave her with us, and we’ll take her to a proper doctor,” the man said matter-of-factly.
Simon gritted his teeth together, knowing they didn’t have the time to deal with such a Neanderthal. “I told you, sir, that I am a doctor and this woman is in need of my attention.”
The man poked Simon in the chest. “And I’m telling you that this woman isn’t going anywhere with you.”
Simon’s hand moved faster than Luthor could follow, grasping the burly man’s finger and twisting it painfully backward. The bone snapped as Simon twisted it awkwardly to the side. The miner screamed in both pain and surprise, cupping his healthy hand to his chest.
Taking full advantage of the opening provided, Simon kicked outward, driving his hardened shin into the man’s groin. The yell of surprise was immediately silenced, replaced instead by a wet heaving as the man doubled over. Simon grabbed a handful of the man’s hair and drove his knee into the man’s face.
The miner was driven upright by the strike and stood unsteadily on his feet a brief moment longer. Simon reached out and pushed him hard in the chest, sending the man tumbling to the ground like a felled tree.
Simon smoothed away the sweat above his moustache and turned his attention back to the room. “As I was saying before being quite rudely interrupted, I am a doctor and now there are two people in need of my attention. Will there be any others?”
The rest of the tavern returned their attention to their respective drinks, refusing to make eye contact with either Simon or Luthor. Satisfied, Simon bent down and collected Mattie’s legs before lifting them again. As they walked past the bar, he retrieved a second gold coin and placed it in front of the bartender. The bartender’s eyes widened before he once again mimicked placing an imaginary lock over his lips.
Through much struggling, they maneuvered Mattie’s limp form up the stairwell and to their room. They placed her gently on the bed, and Luthor replaced his bloodstained coat with the bed’s sheet, pulling it up over her exposed breasts while leaving the gunshot wound visible.
Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1) Page 23
