“Are you saying…?” Luthor began to ask.
“I’m saying nothing,” Simon said abruptly. “What I will say is that I have a hundred reasons to keep a much closer eye on the goings on within Solomon’s Way from this moment forward. Mark my words, we haven’t seen the last of the Golem or its mysterious master. I will find it again, only it won’t escape me a second time.”
Luthor walked into the sitting room and collapsed into a chair, both mentally and physically drained. Simon followed suit, sitting on the couch across from the apothecary. For minutes, they sat as they were, both lost to their thoughts. Eventually, Luthor glanced toward the Inquisitor.
“What shall we do, sir?” he asked. “Shall we get a good night’s rest and begin our investigation anew tomorrow?”
Simon glanced toward his friend, noting the weariness in the man’s voice. He felt it as well, though for a much different reason. His mouth was dry and his throat parched, though he knew no amount of water would quench the thirst he felt. His eyes flickered to the stocked liquor cabinet but just as quickly returned to the apothecary.
It wasn’t just his yearning for a drink that left him taxed. There was something that needed to be done, something Simon had put off for far too long.
With a sigh, Simon shook his head, his eyes shimmering with suppressed tears. “No, Luthor, we won’t be searching for the Golem any time soon. It’s gone to ground, as has its master, and I don’t believe we’ll be hearing from either any time soon. Rather, I have something else that must be done, something that will require your assistance, if you feel so inclined.”
The grass was damp beneath Simon’s feet as he stood in fine livery, his finger’s laced before him. He bit his lip until he tasted the satisfying tinge of blood in his mouth. It was a reminder that everything before him was real; yet the pain helped him keep his mind away from the blatant reality before him.
Bishop Hartford glanced up from his reading, his eyes glossing over the coffin before settling on the Inquisitor. The man of the cloth nodded solemnly to Simon before turning to his readings.
“We commend the remains of Veronica Dawn to the earth,” Hartford said, his low voice carrying easily to the small crowd attending the funeral. “Her mortal remains will become one with the ground as her eternal soul goes to reside by God forever.”
Simon tuned out the bishop’s words and glanced around the gathering. He knew all the faces of those present, all dressed as they were in black, many with tears in their eyes or smearing once well-applied makeup. A number of Veronica’s coworkers from the Ace of Spades were present. He recognized the bouncer who had, on more than one occasion, allowed Simon to bypass the long waiting line so that the Inquisitor could visit with his fiancée. Beside the burlesque dancers, the crowd was thin. Veronica was well known in her circles, but her circles didn’t extend far beyond her work and Simon’s friends.
Matilda was present, barely healed from her ordeal. She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and glanced cautiously toward the Inquisitor. Luthor had his arm around her waist and looked distraught. The apothecary hated funerals as much as Simon and, had he not had such a close connection with the deceased, he probably wouldn’t have come at all.
To Simon’s surprise, both Detective Sugden and Doctor Casan were present as well. Casan had become initiated into the folds during the course of the investigation, but he took a great risk being present, especially in the presence of the detective. For his part, Sugden seemed genuinely morose. He looked toward Simon apologetically and nodded toward the Inquisitor.
Everyone looked at him at one time or another. They all expected to see him emotional, crying as they were. Yet Luthor had been far more correct than he would ever believe. Simon was an automaton; a heartless machine as impassive to his emotions as the Golem he had faced. He glanced around the crowd and caught a few eyes. At least, that was the persona he would have them believe.
Within him was a hurricane of roiling emotions, each more painful than the last. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the casket, knowing that Veronica was within. Though no one would ever realize, since beginning the funeral arrangements, Simon hadn’t slept for longer than a few minutes, and those times were mainly a result of inadvertently falling asleep while performing some task or another.
He had noted that Luthor hated funerals, but his dislike paled beside Simon’s. The Inquisitor didn’t want to be present. Had he thought himself capable, he would have had Veronica buried without his presence by her side. He would have stayed at home, drinking scotch until he lacked the faculties to stand or form coherent words.
Simon frowned, a gesture that he was sure others would misinterpret as sadness. Drinking was exactly the problem. It had become a crutch throughout his life, especially since becoming an Inquisitor. Finish a mission and drown any pain—physical or mental—with a tumbler of scotch. It had nearly cost him his chance to find Veronica’s killer. In hindsight, he realized, it probably had. Had he been sober and his mind clear, he would have interpreted the facts of the case sooner. Perhaps the Golem could have been caught and cornered, unable to escape as it had.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the bishop concluded, and he slowly closed his book.
People passed by the casket, placing flowers atop the coffin. When it was his turn, Simon strode forward and placed a bouquet, his hands shaking unsteadily as he did so. He stepped back and the attention of the crowd shifted to him. Sugden and Casan approached him first, offering their condolences.
“Forgive our hasty departure,” the detective offered, “but crime waits for no man. I’m terribly sorry for you loss. No matter our differences, no one should suffer like you and I have, losing someone we love.”
Casan stepped before him and nodded understandingly. “I wish I could have known her better before her death. I’m sorry she was taken from you.”
And so it went. People he knew in varying degrees of familiarity shook his hand and offered condolences for his loss. Some hugged him as they cried as though they should share the burden of their loss. Others, like the bouncer, said nothing at all as they shook hands. Finally, it was just Luthor and Mattie, even the bishop having excused himself.
“We can stay if you’d like, sir,” Luthor offered.
“If you need someone…” Mattie offered.
Simon shook his head. “Thank you both, but no. I’ll be fine. If it’s all the same, I’d like to say my final goodbyes alone. I think she deserves nothing less.”
Luthor nodded and grasped Simon’s shoulder tightly before turning away. Mattie offered a quick hug before hurrying to join Luthor.
When they were both gone and he was alone in the middle of a vast cemetery, Simon laid his hand on the casket. He wanted to say so much to her, but it seemed like his time had passed. She couldn’t hear his whispered “I love you” or “I wish you were still here.” Knowing that he was alone, Simon did the only thing he thought right.
He fell to his knees on the wet ground and cried until he felt utterly hollow inside.
Deep beneath Callifax, within a room connected only to the complex labyrinth of sewer tunnels, the Golem paced in frustration. Its normally expressionless face was screwed in a look of fear. Half its face was twisted from the flames, the skin having melted like wax over the metal plates beneath. The hair was singed, leaving exposed scalp above a ruined ear. Parts of its left arm and most of its torso were likewise burned by Simon’s well-placed lantern.
It turned sharply on its heel and stalked toward the other end of the small room. What the room lacked in depth, it made up for in height, accommodating the towering stature of the Golem. As it passed, it cast its eyes toward the closed door at the far end of the room, the sole entrance and exit from the secret chamber.
Footsteps sounded beyond the door, and a jingle of keys could be heard. The Golem stopped its pacing and turned toward the door, snarling dangerously. The door swung open slowly, and a man stepped into the room. The Golem’s expression immediatel
y fell, its eyes brimming with unbridled love for the man.
Detective Sugden walked into the room, closing the door behind him, and quickly crossed to the Golem. He reached out his hand toward the creature’s face, but it pulled away as his fingertips made contact with the sensitive, ruined flesh.
“It’s okay,” Sugden cooed. “I’m here now.”
The Golem lowered its head and purred as it pressed its face lovingly into his extended hand. Sugden felt the burnt flesh and frowned deeply, his jaw set tightly and his eyes brimming with tears.
“What have they done to you?” he whispered. “Look at what they’ve done to my boy.”
The door opened behind Sugden. The Golem growled, its shoulders taut as it stared at the newcomer. Without turning, the detective told the beast to hush and it slowly relaxed. With the Golem under control once more, Sugden glanced over his shoulder toward the cloaked figure in the doorway. The man’s hood was pulled low, revealing nothing of his face beneath.
“Look what they did to my son,” Sugden said, his words thick with emotion. “They set him on fire like he was an animal.”
“The damage can be repaired,” the cloaked man replied.
“Can it?” Sugden asked, disbelievingly. “Can you fix him so that he will be as he was?”
The cloaked figure walked briskly to the Golem’s side and examined it as though it were a horse for sale, pulling aside its gums to check the Golem’s teeth and lifting its heavy limbs to examine the damage.
“Of course I can,” the mysterious man replied. “I built it; of course I can repair it. Then he can go back and finish our work.”
END OF BOOK 3
Jon Messenger, born 1979 in London, England, serves as a United States Army Major in the Medical Service Corps. Since graduating from the University of Southern California in 2002, writing Science Fiction has remained his passion, a passion that has continued through two deployments to Iraq and a humanitarian relief mission to Haiti. Jon wrote the “Brink of Distinction” trilogy, of which “Burden of Sisyphus” is the first book, while serving a 16-month deployment in Baghdad, Iraq. Visit Jon on his website at www.JonMessengerAuthor.com.
Stay tuned for the next adventure in the Magic & Machinery Series by Jon Messenger coming next Spring. Make sure to subscribe to our newsletter to be the first to hear up to date information on the upcoming release.
If you are enjoying the Magic & Machinery Series by Jon Messenger, we recommend you check out Chasing Daybreak by Ranae Glass. Chasing Daybreak is Free!
Isabel Stone wanted a normal life. But when the unexpected death of her father leaves her at the helm of the family business, things quickly go from weird to worse. Vampires are on the loose and out of the coffin, and only Isabel can walk the fine line between the world of the living and the world of the undead.
Torn between letting go of her past and embracing her future, Isabel will have to decide who she can trust, and be willing to use all the weapons at her disposal, to get to the bottom of a terrifying string of deaths that lead right to her doorstep—before she becomes the next victim. In a city where nothing is what it seems, ending up the target of a deranged killer might actually be the high point of her week. Because in this town, the things that go bump in the night… just might kill you.
The Golem of Solomon's Way Page 26
