The Golem of Solomon's Way

by Jon Messenger

  “It may not be your cup of tea, but we still have so much left to do before the wedding, and not nearly enough time in which to do it. We need to select a caterer today and, lest you forget, tomorrow we have the Pre-Cana at the Callifax Abbey.”

  Simon shook his head, but he didn’t protest. The wedding counseling was important to her faith, even if he found the entire ordeal rather droll. “How could I possibly forget?”

  She smiled as she took a bite of a lemon cake. “Promise me you’ll be nice to the bishop.”

  Simon sighed as he ran a hand over his thin moustache. “For you, my dear, I will try.”

  Veronica set down the fork and leaned on the counter, her bustle swelling against the wooden table. “I’m under the impression that’s the closest I’ll get to a commitment on the subject. Come and try cake, Simon.”

  “I trust your judgment,” he said dryly. He turned his attention back out the window. Cars rumbled by, clouds of smoke spewing from their exhausts and filling the air like a dark fog. Men lowered their head against the pollution and ladies delicately waved lacy fans before their face.

  “How do you feel about the red velvet cake?” Veronica asked.

  The Inquisitor realized she was talking to him and glanced over his shoulder. “Whatever you want. I won’t deny you.”

  “It’s… it’s not cheap,” she said hesitantly.

  Simon turned slowly until he was resting his back against the large glass window. “Money is no object. I haven’t spent the past few years of my life dedicated to the Royal Inquisitors, not to mention so many times deployed to distal lands, just to become miserly for our wedding. If you desire the red velvet, then you shall have the red velvet.”

  He gestured to the baker, who nodded appreciatively. “Your cake will be ready for your wedding, sir and madam,” he said to the couple.

  Simon, glad to be finished with the baker, turned away from the window and lifted his top hat from the hook on the wall. He angled it on his head as he opened the door for Veronica. A bell above it jingled as they walked out into the warm air. He offered his arm, which she took gladly as they started the long walk to the caterer.

  “You could at least act like you’re interested in our wedding,” Veronica reprimanded as they walked.

  Simon furrowed his brow as he turned toward his fiancée. “My love, if I have ever given you the impression that I wasn’t excited about marrying you, then I apologize profusely. There’s nothing I want more than to have you as my wife.”

  “However?” she asked.

  “However, the preparations for our wedding are dreadfully boring. Isn’t there someone we could hire that could do all this for us?” He smiled as he took her gloved hands in his. “Imagine, if you will, we could be in bed, sleeping away the morning, while some poor soul slaved away from sunup to sundown just to ensure we have the perfect wedding. Tell me that isn’t a dream come true.”

  Veronica laughed, pulled a hand away, and shoved him playfully. “I happen to enjoy planning our wedding. There are very few people I trust in this world to get it right, and I most certainly am not entrusting our wedding to a complete stranger. You knew when we first met I was not a woman of considerable wealth. This may come as a surprise to you, but poor little girls have very little to do with their time other than to imagine their fanciful weddings.”

  “And thus you chose someone with money to marry, so that your dreams could be fulfilled?” Simon chided with a smile.

  “I did no such thing. Your wealth is an added benefit to our love.” She leaned forward on her tiptoes and kissed him gently on the lips.

  “I work tonight,” she said as she pulled away. “Will you come and see me?”

  “I’m sorry, but I promised Luthor and Matilda that I would pay them a visit.”

  She smiled. “You don’t seem as excited as you should be.”

  “Luthor has been an incessant nag since our return. It’s like having a second mother.”

  Veronica reached up and brushed his cheek softly. “Spend time with your friends. Perhaps you can visit me tomorrow night, then?”

  Simon slipped an arm around her waist, not caring about the men and women who were inconvenienced by the couple stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. “I will be there tomorrow, that I promise you.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. We must go or we’re going to be late for our next appointment.”

  “We certainly wouldn’t want that,” he said dryly.

  Simon took off his coat, handing it to Luthor as he entered the townhouse. Once his jacket was hung, the apothecary led him into the sitting room. Mattie stood and he hugged her lightly, kissing her on the cheek.

  “It’s so good to see you again, Simon,” she said.

  “You as well, Matilda. I’ve been so engaged since we returned, I’ve hardly found the time for you and Luthor.”

  “Well, I’m glad you found time for us this evening,” she replied.

  Luthor gestured toward the armchair, and Simon sat. The couple took seats next to one another on the couch.

  “How have the wedding plans progressed?” Luthor asked.

  Simon tapped his chin as he considered the best way to respond without using profanity. “Veronica forbade me from carrying my pistol, which is the only reason so many businessmen and women in the city still live and breathe.”

  The apothecary chuckled softly while Mattie smirked.

  “Gideon Dosett was a demon, using mind control to steal the lands from the indigenous peoples,” he continued, glancing toward Mattie, “and yet, I don’t think he was half as deceitful or vile as the people I’ve encountered today.”

  “Surely you jest, sir,” Luthor said.

  “Only just!”

  Luthor stood and gestured toward the kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink, sir? I could put on a pot of tea if you feel so inclined.”

  Simon shook his head. “After the day I’ve had, I’ll need something a bit more potent. Scotch, if you have it.”

  Luthor turned away from the kitchen door and angled toward the liquor cabinet. Opening the glass doors, he pulled out a tumbler and a carafe of brown liquid. “On the rocks?”

  “Of course.”

  Luthor lifted the lid to the ice chest but saw only a few half-melted cubes within. Glancing cautiously over his shoulder, he noted Simon in deep conversation with Mattie. Turning back to the ice chest, Luthor traced the loops and swirls of a rune into the air above the puddle of water. The rune flashed a stark blue white before snow crystals fell onto the melted cubes. The water coalesced, forming perfect cubes of ice. Grasping the tongs, Luthor retrieved a few cubes and dropped them into the tumbler, followed quickly by the scotch.

  Turning, he offered the glass to the Inquisitor.

  “Thank you,” he said absently, continuing his conversation with the woman.

  “Have you heard word from the Grand Inquisitor?” Mattie asked as Luthor stepped away to make drinks for her and himself.

  “Unfortunately, no,” Simon replied, resting his tumbler on the arm of the chair. “Aside from turning in my report from Whitten Hall, I’ve barely had a moment alone with the man. It’s almost as though he were intentionally avoiding me.”

  “I can’t imagine why he would,” she replied.

  Simon sighed. “I understand your difficult predicament, Miss Hawke, but in this instance, you’ll just have to be patient.”

  “Do you realize you only call her Miss Hawke when you’re delivering news you know she won’t like?” Luthor asked as he took his seat and offered a drink to Mattie.

  “I do not,” Simon replied.

  Mattie took a drink and nodded. “You do, actually.”

  “Well then, Matilda,” he said with unnecessary emphasis, “I’m sure the Grand Inquisitor will make a determination soon.”

  “You make it sound so simplistic, as though he were deciding upon which tie to wear to dinner. This is my life and the lives of my tribe.”

  “Forgive me,” Simon said, quick
ly serious. “I meant no disrespect. I know how important this is to you. I just feel rather powerless to force the man’s hand, and I fear that forcing a decision will result in the wrong one being made. However, I promise I shall broach the subject with him again when next I see him.”

  “Have you heard anything about our next assignment?” Luthor asked in an attempt to defuse the tension in the room.

  Simon took a sip of his scotch but shook his head. “No, nothing. I feel that our assignment to Whitten Hall was a fluke, one assigned to us solely because the Grand Inquisitor wanted time in private to examine Miss… Matilda’s situation. Now, with no other pressing issues, we’ve been placed at the bottom of the queue. If all goes well, it should be a month or two before we’re dispatched once more.”

  “Months in Callifax, you say, sir?” Luthor asked with an approving nod. He raised his glass. “A man could get used to that.”

  Simon raised his glass as well. “I will gladly drink to the idea.”

  As the men drank, Mattie swirled her liquor around in her glass and smiled. “I hardly know what to do with myself. I’ve never before explored a city as large as Callifax, save for the abrupt few weeks we spent here before the nasty business with the vampires. It’s genuinely pleasant spending this time here, with no pressing concerns. We truly could do anything we desire without worries about being called away on assignment. We are just three friends spending the evening together, like normal men and women.”

  “Here, here,” Luthor said as he leaned back into the couch.

  Simon nodded slyly and took another drink of his scotch.

  They stared at one another in silence, nodding politely and taking sips of their drinks, but saying nothing.

  Luthor finally exhaled loudly. “Well, this is certainly awkward.”

  “Thank God someone else said it,” Simon replied with a sigh. “I fear we’re not suited for domestic tranquility.”

  “I don’t know who I was kidding,” Mattie added. “I haven’t the foggiest what a normal man and woman does in Callifax. It seems absolutely dreadful.”

  Simon winked mischievously. “We could find trouble, then.”

  Mattie smiled. “What did you have in mind?”

  “We could pay Veronica a visit at work,” he said, shrugging.

  Luthor glanced back and forth between Simon and Mattie. “Sir, I’m not quite sure the Ace of Spades is quite the right establishment for Mattie.”

  Mattie frowned as she turned toward the apothecary. “Not quite the right establishment for me? You have this odd illusion that I’m a lady of proper upbringing, yet I find myself once more needing to remind you I most certainly am not.”

  Her eyes flashed a threatening yellow, mimicking that of a wolf. A guttural growl rolled from her throat. Luthor set down his drink and raised his hands defensively.

  “Forgive me for defending your womanly virtues,” the apothecary said. “If you wish to visit a club of ill repute, who am I to stop you?”

  “Don’t let Luthor fool you,” Simon explained. “He’s never actually been inside himself.”

  She turned toward him, her eyes returning to their natural color as she smiled. “Never? Then it seems our evening plans have been settled.”

  The trio crossed the bridge into Solomon’s Way, passing the unremarkable stretch where the young woman had been attacked a few nights before. Compared to the opulence of the Upper Reaches, where Simon and Luthor called home, Solomon’s Way had a filthier feel. Dirt and soot were caked along the windowsills they passed. Refuse lined the street, blowing gently across their path in the evening’s breeze. The streets were busier, however. At night, the Upper Reaches were quiet as politicians and members of the royal court rested for busy days ahead. For those who rebuked sleep in lieu of nightly entertainment, they found their way across the bridge, where the dirty streets hid concealed brothels and nightclubs galore.

  The Ace of Spades glowed like a torch in the night, shining brightly against the backdrop of the city. Brightly colored paint on the building’s exterior glowed under the sea of harsh fluorescent lights, reflecting a rainbow of patterns in the puddles lining the street before it. A line stretched along the front of the building, an odd assortment of men and women dressed in finery, intermingled with denizens of the Lower Reaches, wearing patched jackets and frayed hats.

  A large man stood at the door, a veritable mountain of flesh and muscle. He stopped the throng of eager patrons from entering; no one rebuffed him as he decisively held up a hand, ordering couples and individuals alike to stop short of the door. A pair of scantily dressed women stood on either side of the padded double doors, awaiting an opportunity to open them for patrons coming or going.

  Mattie and Luthor angled toward the back of the long line, though Simon could see their disapproval at having to wait most of the night just to enter. Simon shook his head as he grabbed them by their arms.

  “We don’t wait in line,” he explained.

  The bouncer, dressed in fine livery, glanced up at Simon’s approach. He warily glanced back and forth to Simon’s companions, but the Inquisitor slipped a gold coin into the man’s hand as they paused before the towering brute.

  “Welcome back to the Ace of Spades, sir,” the bouncer said, ignoring the expressed indignation of those still standing in line. Simon smiled as the bouncer turned back to those waiting, yelling profanity and expressing his severe lack of concern at their sense of favoritism.

  The two ladies at the door grasped the heavy, wrought-iron handles and pulled the doors open. A wave of noise and sweetly scented smoke rolled from the club’s interior. Leading the way, Simon stepped within. They entered onto a raised arc of seats, overlooking the sunken main floor below. Patrons, their eyes affixed on the stage, took all the seats around the curved bar. A woman danced slowly on the main stage, unlatching bone clasps on her corset in perfect rhythm with the pounding drums.

  Simon descended the few stairs onto the main floor and headed directly toward an empty booth near the left wall. Curtains were hung beside the booth, offering privacy if so desired, but they were currently opened, revealing a small plaque sitting on the table marked “reserved”. Simon slid into the booth, moving the sign aside as he did so. Luthor and Mattie joined him, even as Simon signaled toward a server.

  A well-endowed woman clad in lingerie approached the booth. A small cap rested on her head, held in its odd angle by a number of pins. A leather sash hung around her neck, attached to a tray held at her waist. Atop the tray was an assortment of goods: cigars, cigarettes, and a few other unmentionables that made Luthor blush at the sight.

  “A cigarette, if you please,” Simon said, loud enough to be heard over the music.

  “Of course, Inquisitor,” the woman replied.

  Handing Simon a cigarette, she pulled a lighter from the tray and ignited a steady flame. Leaning over the table, revealing more of herself than Luthor would have believed possible, she lit Simon’s cigarette. The Inquisitor took a long drag before pulling it from his mouth and exhaling.

  “Thank you, Juliette,” Simon said with a grin on his face.

  “I didn’t think you were coming in today,” Juliette said, her dark curls bouncing as she spoke. “Veronica said you were otherwise occupied.”

  Simon gestured toward the other two in the booth. Juliette nodded to them both as though she hadn’t noticed them before that moment.

  “We decided our evening plans should include the Ace of Spades,” he explained. “Juliette, I’d like to introduce you to some very close friends of mine, Mister Luthor Strong and Miss Matilda Hawke.”

  “A pleasure. Shall I tell Veronica you’re here?” the waitress asked.

  Simon shook his head. “Not at all. I’d rather surprise her, if it’s all the same.”

  Juliette smiled, though Luthor noted wistfulness in her expression. He glanced knowingly toward the Inquisitor, though the mustached man seemed oblivious to her subtle advances.

  “Absolutely, sir,” s
he replied. “Be quick, though, if you intend to see her. She goes on in a few minutes. I hope you all have a wonderful evening.”

  Juliette turned away and disappeared into the crowd, hawking her wares as she went. Luthor turned toward his friend and gestured toward the door beside the stage.

  “Shall we let you out, sir?”

  Simon stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I considered watching her perform, first, but I ought to let her know we’re here. The last thing we need is to catch her off guard halfway through her performance.”

  Luthor glanced nervously toward Mattie. “Should we avert our eyes when she comes on stage?” His eyes drifted to the nearly naked woman gracing the main stage. “I’m not entirely sure I could properly look her in the eyes were I to see her naked.”

  “You’ve lived such a sheltered life,” Mattie replied. “You’ve both seen me naked during my transformations and, if anything, it’s only strengthened our bond.”

  “I believe that’s Luthor’s point,” Simon offered. “The bond that you mention happens to involve quite a bit of lust on Luthor’s part.”

  If it were possible for Luthor to turn even more scarlet, he did. He fiddled with his glasses as though they suddenly required his utmost attention.

  “I don’t think he’d feel quite right lusting after my fiancée,” Simon concluded.

  Mattie arched her eyebrow. “Forgive me if I’m not capturing the subtle nuances of the club, but isn’t that quite the point of this establishment?”

  “Quite right you are.” Simon patted Luthor on the arm and forced the apothecary from the booth. “You didn’t miss a thing, Matilda. If you’ll both excuse me, I have a gorgeous brunette to seduce before her moment in the limelight.”

  Mattie laughed heartily, but Luthor seemed to have lost his voice. The apothecary collapsed back into the booth without as much as a farewell. Simon walked briskly to the stage entrance and slipped past the bouncer. The room beyond was a flurry of activity. Women in various stages of undress scurried about the room, applying makeup or borrowing pieces of jewelry, most of which Simon immediately recognized as fake. Despite the amount of exposed flesh around him, the Inquisitor mostly ignored their curious stares as he moved toward a closed dressing room in the back.