“Why do you think that holy matrimony is right for the two of you?” the bishop asked.
“Because we love one another,” Veronica quickly replied. She turned toward Simon, but the Inquisitor was chewing on his lip. “Simon?”
The bishop arched an eyebrow before folding his hands in his lap. “Inquisitor Whitlock, how would you respond to that question?”
Simon glanced to Veronica and smiled sheepishly. He was glad to finally be presented with a question for which he so readily knew the answer, one that wouldn’t, in any way, require lying to the bishop. “I want to marry Veronica because, to be perfectly blunt, I trust her with my life.”
The bishop nodded. “Trust is a good foundation on which a healthy marriage can be built. Certainly there’s more to your love for one another, though.”
Simon shook his head. “For me, trust is enough.”
He cleared his throat when both the bishop and Veronica stared at him expectantly. “Forgive me. As a Royal Inquisitor, it becomes very difficult to trust someone. Our line of work is predicated on the idea that anyone could be a threat; that anyone could, at any given moment, present magical maladies. When you spend your life under such an auspice, you tend to categorize people into one of two categories. They are either assets or threats. Those closest to you are assets. I generally see them solely based off the skills they possess and the ways I can best utilize them to eliminate threats. Threats, of course, are dealt with accordingly.”
The bishop rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but he looked puzzled. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Simon reached out and took Veronica’s hand. “There are those who say that a Royal Inquisitor should be marrying a noblewoman at the very least, not a commoner like Miss Dawn. Yet, when I met her, she was only the second person I had ever met who I saw not as a conglomeration of their individual skills, but as a friend. She was the first person to truly touch my soul. It was at that moment that I knew I loved her and, furthermore, that we would be together forever.”
Veronica slipped her hand free from Simon, only so that she could open her clutch and retrieve a handkerchief. She dapped at the corners of her eyes, ensuring she didn’t smear her makeup in the process.
“That was a beautiful sentiment,” the bishop replied breathlessly. “You’re a God-fearing man, I presume, Mister Whitlock?”
Simon shook his head again. “I’ve never put much faith in God, nor he in me.”
“Simon,” Veronica said harshly, the beauty of his previous statement immediately evaporating into glaring disapproval.
The bishop raised his hand. “No, Miss Dawn, there’s no reason to reprimand the Inquisitor. He’s speaking honestly and from the heart, of which I would expect nothing less during this discussion. Tell me, Simon—if I may call you Simon—what is it that makes you so hesitant to embrace your faith?”
Simon cleared his throat and glanced at Veronica, meeting her warning stare. He knew she wanted nothing less than for him to immediately be struck mute. If ever there was a moment for divine intervention, Simon realized, this was probably it. When nothing happened, when the bishop still stared at him expectantly, he realized the truth. He had been in for a penny, now he was committed to being in for a pound as well.
“God is supposed to be omnipresent, yet I have seen the dark corners of this kingdom in which God no longer resides. I have faced the horror of a demon, raised from the depths of the hell you so fear. I have struck down a vampire with my own hand, whose very existence predates your most religious texts. If ever I had my belief in a just God, my faith was crushed by the very existence of the Rift. Its presence, and the monstrous abominations that dwell within its depths, prove that either God doesn’t exist, or He has turned a blind eye on the suffering of His people.”
The room fell into silence. Though he had been honest, Simon wanted nothing more than to suddenly vanish, to dissipate into the air or, more sensibly, to stand from his chair and walk from the Abbey, never to return. He stole a glance sideways and saw Veronica’s immense disapproval. Her lack of condemnation was solely a result of her inability to find her tongue.
“Forgive me, Bishop,” she finally stammered. “I didn’t—”
The bishop raised his hand, interrupting her apology. “You have no need to apologize, Miss Dawn. To be perfectly honest, Mister Whitlock and his experiences fascinate me. I would love to hear more, at a more appropriate time.”
When Veronica looked surprised and, Simon noted, relieved, the bishop explained. “A core belief in God doesn’t come by surrounding one’s self with those of similar faith. Those of similar faith merely reinforce our own ideology. A true test of faith comes when confronting someone who so strongly disagrees with our very dogma. An atheist, one who believes there is no God, or an agnostic, like Simon, who believes there might be a God but he is not as omniscient as we would believe, tests our resolve and further proves that our belief in God is based in a solid foundation.”
Simon swallowed hard, relieved, and found that he liked the bishop more and more. “I had feared you’d have me thrown from the Abbey.”
“The thought crossed my mind,” the bishop replied with a smile. “We have much more to discuss today, but a lack of faith in God’s true might does not disqualify a couple from being married in the church. Quite the opposite. It strengthens my resolve to convince you of God’s absolute right.”
The conversation continued for hours, a heated debate at times, other times settling into a friendly dialogue about experiences and generalized beliefs. When it was done, Veronica no longer glared at Simon with unabashed anger, her frown becoming a warm smile. Near the end of their Pre-Cana lesson, she took Simon’s hand once more, a sign to him that he would not be sleeping alone for the rest of their relationship.
The bishop stood, and Simon and Veronica quickly followed suit. “Mister Whitlock and Miss Dawn, while I have my concerns about your shared faith, I have no doubts at all about your commitment to one another. This will, as I’m sure you’re more than aware, not be our last meeting, though I can say that I eagerly look forward to our next discussion.”
“I am glad that at least some of my preconceived notions on organized religion have been quelled,” Simon said.
The bishop arched his eyebrow. “Which preconceived notions would those be?”
“You’re not a close-minded bigot, so there’s that.”
The bishop laughed even as Veronica’s frown returned. “Yes, Simon, I very much look forward to our next meeting.”
They all shook hands, and the bishop escorted the couple to the massive front doors. As he pushed them open, warm sunlight flooded the church. “We shall see one another again soon. Miss Dawn, I encourage you to convince Mister Whitlock to join you for services one of these days.”
She glanced toward the Inquisitor and slowly shook her head. “I think it might take the full might of God to make that happen, Your Holiness, but I will see what I can do.”
“God bless you both,” the bishop said as they stepped out of the Abbey and into the warm air.
They walked in silence to the sidewalk running in front of the walled-off Abbey property and turned back toward Simon’s townhouse. From his periphery, he could see her stealing glances in his direction.
“I’m sleeping alone tonight, aren’t I?” he asked bluntly.
“Oh, yes, you’re very much sleeping alone tonight,” she replied, her voice level and calm.
He quickly found that a strangely calm woman, when clearly battling a raging torrent of anger within her, scared him far worse than any monster he’d faced.
Simon sighed as he dressed in his nightgown that night. He wished to say that he hadn’t foreseen the day going so poorly, but he knew better. Religion had been the only point of contention in their otherwise wonderful relationship, one that was mostly ignored for the sake of both their sanity. It had been sadly unavoidable when he had been marched directly into the proverbial lion’s den.
He poured himsel
f a stiff drink from the carafe and wet his lips, letting the warmth from the scotch roll down his throat and settle in his stomach. He didn’t need the drink to sleep, although it helped. The warmth from the drink would have to be a poor alternative for the warmth of Veronica’s body, but sacrifices had to be made.
After he turned off his bedside lamp and laid the tumbler on his nightstand, he climbed into bed and settled underneath the down-filled blanket. His eyes were starting to flutter closed, even though his mind was still a jumble of activity, when he heard a faint knock on the front door.
Curious, he sat up in bed and listened intently. Moments later, the knock sounded again, a little more insistent than the first. He swung his legs out of bed and found his house shoes. Slipping them onto his feet, he walked toward the bedroom doorway, pausing only as he passed the armoire. He opened the wardrobe door and pulled from within his silver-plated revolver. Thusly armed, he left his room and quickly descended the stairs, even as the persistent knock came again.
Upon reaching the foyer, he glanced out the front door’s narrow window. To his surprise, he saw a harried-looking Veronica standing on his doorstep. She caught his eye and gestured for him to open the door. Without pause, he threw the lock and opened it wide.
“I didn’t think I’d have the pleasure of your company tonight, my dear,” he said.
“Gloria didn’t come home tonight,” she stated matter-of-factly.
Simon furrowed his brow. “It’s only been two nights. Is it truly that unusual for her?”
“It’s not unheard of,” she admitted, “but normally, she at least returns briefly for changes of clothing. I’m far more concerned that she didn’t show to work tonight, either, which is highly unlike her.”
“That is a bit more disconcerting. Shouldn’t you still be at work, my dear?”
Veronica shook her head. “When she didn’t show, I grew concerned and begged off for the night.”
“I’m sure there’s a perfectly viable explanation as to her absence. There’s an equally good chance that when you awake tomorrow morning, she’ll be sleeping soundly in her bed, none the worse for wear.”
Veronica frowned and placed her hands on her hips. “You’re not giving this the seriousness that the situation demands.”
“Forgive me,” he said, rubbing his eyes. “You’ve caught me at a time when I’m hardly awake. What would you like me to do?”
“We could look for her,” she said, forcing her way past him and into the townhouse’s foyer.
“At…” He paused and glanced at the grandfather clock standing against the wall. “At eleven o’clock at night? I wouldn’t have the faintest idea of where to begin our search.”
She started to object, but he took her hands and held them tightly. “If she has simply met a gentleman caller, then she’ll be in his home. We couldn’t very well go searching door to door, knocking on every house and apartment in Callifax to search for her. Stay here with me tonight and first thing in the morning, I’ll accompany you back to your apartment. If she still hasn’t shown and there’s no sign she’s been back to the apartment during the night, we’ll go straight to the constabulary and file a report.”
She frowned again, though she wasn’t as committed to the gesture as she’d been earlier. “I told you quite clearly I had no intention of spending the night with you tonight.”
Simon shrugged. “The decision has been taken from us. You can’t very well go wandering the streets of the Upper Reaches alone at such an ungodly hour. There’s no other recourse but to spend the night here, with me.”
He smiled slyly. Begrudgingly, she smiled as well. He closed the door, locked it, and led her upstairs, hiding the pistol behind his back as they walked.
The next morning found Gloria’s bedroom as it had been the night before: unsullied, the bed still made and all her clothing hanging untouched in her closet. Veronica passed through the room three times, searching for clues of Gloria’s whereabouts, even entering the bathroom to look for loose strands of blonde hair that might have fallen about the room. When she found nothing, she returned to Simon in the living room.
“She hasn’t been home,” Veronica said, the concern evident in her voice. “This is highly unlike her. Gloria’s an eternal optimist and prone to flights of fancy, but she’s dependable. She wouldn’t miss work and she wouldn’t leave for an extended time, even with a man she adored, without letting me know.”
Simon took her shoulders and pulled her close, feeling her body shake as he held her. “If you’re truly concerned, then let’s go to the constabulary. We’ll file a report with them. Perhaps they’ve heard from her or, if not, at least they’ll have the manpower to properly search the city.”
She nodded gratefully and he took her hand, leading her from the apartment.
The Solomon’s Way police station wasn’t far from her apartment. It stood on the same side of the road as her apartment building, detached from the debauchery of the main thoroughfare but close enough to respond to trouble, should it arise. Its brick exterior was weathered but looked in fine condition compared to much of the rest of the Way.
They climbed the front steps and entered the building. A desk sergeant stood at the front desk, flanked by rows of desks and individual offices. His tall, curved hat was set upon the desk before him, and the sergeant was busy smoothing his unruly moustache. He looked up as Simon and Veronica approached.
“Can I help you?” the sergeant asked.
Simon glanced at Veronica, but she clearly deferred to the Inquisitor. “My name is Inquisitor Simon Whitlock. This is my fiancée, Miss Veronica Dawn. We would like to report a missing person.”
The desk sergeant straightened at the mention of Simon’s title, though it didn’t seem to be out of respect for the position. The Inquisitors and constabulary hadn’t always seen eye to eye, each organization often overstepping their bounds and into the realm of the other group in the process of investigating their respective crimes.
“Is the missing person an acquaintance of yours, then?”
“My roommate,” Veronica said.
The sergeant relaxed slightly when Veronica spoke. He turned his attention toward the dark-haired woman. “I’m sorry, madam… Miss Dawn, was it?”
She nodded, and the sergeant wrote her name on a sheet of paper in front of him. “And who is it that’s currently missing?”
“Her name is Gloria Cloverfield,” Veronica said, the words spilling quickly from her. “She’s approximately my height, though a more slender build. She has long, blonde hair, usually in tight curls. Her eyes are—”
The desk sergeant’s expression sank, and his eyes softened. Veronica might not have noticed the subtle change, but it didn’t go at all unnoticed by Simon. The Inquisitor arched his brow as the sergeant turned away, ignoring the rest of Veronica’s explanation.
“Find me the detective,” the sergeant yelled to one of the other bobbies. “I need him at the front desk, if you please.”
Veronica’s voice faded away, not so much stopping as each word came slower and slower until her sentence died on her lips. “What’s the matter?”
“Sorry, madam,” the sergeant stammered. “I’m not at liberty to say. You’ll have to wait for the detective.”
Veronica turned toward Simon, who could only shrug in equal confusion. They didn’t have to wait long before a slightly heavyset man in a long, brown trench coat hurried to the front desk. Simon recognized the detective at once; they had so recently met on the bridge during Simon’s last investigation.
“Detective Sugden,” the Inquisitor said.
The detective paused, eyeing Simon warily, before his mind made the connection. “Inquisitor. I’m rather surprised to see you here. What can the constabulary do for you?”
The desk sergeant leaned in to the detective and whispered a quick explanation. The detective blanched slightly as he nodded. “Gloria Cloverfield was an acquaintance of yours?”
The use of the past tense of the v
erb wasn’t lost on Simon.
“She’s my roommate,” Veronica said, her nervousness rising as well. “We share an apartment. Do you know where she is? Is she all right?”
“I think you should both come with me,” Sugden said dryly, leading them away from the front desk.
The trio walked to a stairwell. Detective Sugden descended the stairs, leading them into the cool basement of the police station. Simon could feel the chill emanating from the walls and could hear the distant hum of machinery. The further they walked, the colder the air grew until he was forced to drape his arm over Veronica’s shoulders to keep her warm.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Where are you taking us?”
Simon looked up and saw the steel doors ahead. He frowned, knowing only too well where they were going. “The morgue,” he said softly.
The detective’s steps faltered momentarily, but he regained his pace and led them to the frigid metal doors. Wordlessly, he pushed them open. Simon followed the man inside, Veronica already shaking, though not as much from the cold any more. The Inquisitor’s gaze fell on a thin man standing over a raised, metal table. The man was dressed in a blue gown as he worked, and Simon immediately shielded Veronica’s eyes from the sight of the autopsy being performed.
“Doctor,” the detective said, “would you be so kind as to cease your work momentarily?”
The thin man paused and glanced over his shoulder, noting the detective, flanked by Simon and Veronica. Coughing apologetically, he pulled a sheet over the corpse before him and stripped off his blood-soaked gloves.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Veronica asked.
“I’m afraid so, madam,” Sugden replied. “Miss Cloverfield was found by passersby yesterday afternoon. She had identification on her but no address, so we had no way of contacting anyone.” The detective glanced toward the thin man. “This is Doctor Youke Casan. He will assist in identifying your friend’s remains.”
The Golem of Solomon's Way Page 6
