“I would like to see the… other you,” the Grand Inquisitor said, his tone leaving little interpretation that it was an order far more than it was a question. “I’d like to see the wolf.”
Mattie glanced toward Luthor, who gritted his teeth but nodded. They had little option. She returned her gaze to the Grand Inquisitor.
“You understand that there are extenuating circumstances to my transformation, most glaringly of which is that I must be nude.”
The Grand Inquisitor coughed politely. “Of course.”
He turned his chair toward the far wall. Simon and Luthor turned away from Mattie as she stripped out of her clothing. They listened as her boots clicked on the wooden floor as she removed them. Her belt was dropped upon a pile of clothing, its buckle still ringing as it struck the hardwood. Following the belt, there was a dense silence in the room.
Simon fought the urge to glance over his shoulder, though he wasn’t sure if it was more likely that he would see a naked Mattie, a werewolf, or nothing at all as she fled from the room. Instead, he kept his focus on the series of weathered photographs mounted on the wall.
The silence was broken by a guttural growl, one that portrayed a combination of pain and predatory glee. Something tore, like paper being shredded. The smell in the air was pungent, like a wet dog, Simon realized with a frown. He needn’t turn around to know that her transformation was complete. He had seen her transform many times before and it was always disturbing to see the diminutive woman tearing at her flesh with sharpened fingernails, exposing the stark white fur beneath the bloody gashes in her skin.
Without warning, Mattie, now fully transformed, padded around the trio on all fours. She appeared far less like a werewolf and much more like a massive winter wolf, one far larger than Simon would have believed possible from the short redhead, had he not previously seen it with his own eyes.
The Grand Inquisitor sank further into his chair as her large maw turned toward him. Her eyes were nearly black as she stared at him, her nose rising and falling as she sniffed the edges of his heavy robe.
“Is… is this her?” the Grand Inquisitor stammered.
Simon smiled, for once feeling back in control of the situation. “Sir, once again, I would like to introduce Miss Matilda Hawke.”
Mattie pulled her snout from the elder man, allowing him room to stand. The Grand Inquisitor stepped forward cautiously until his outstretched hand hovered inches away from Mattie’s snout. She quickly turned her head and nuzzled his hand with her cheek. His hand sank into the thick, white fur.
“Remarkable,” the Grand Inquisitor said. “It doesn’t seem feral or aggressive at all.”
“She, sir,” Simon corrected. “Not it.”
The Grand Inquisitor turned toward Simon. “Would it be okay if I touched her again?”
Simon shrugged. “That’s hardly up to me, sir. You’d have to ask Ms. Hawke.”
“You mean she can understand me, even in her more primitive state?”
“I can do far more than understand you,” Mattie said. Though her voice was far more guttural and coarse, it was still unmistakably hers.
The Grand Inquisitor turned sharply back toward Mattie. “You can speak?”
“Did you expect that I turned into a mindless predator after the transformation?” she asked, her canine lips bending and twisting oddly as she pronounced each word.
“Forgive me, madam, but I actually did.”
Mattie reared back, lifting her front paws from the ground and balancing on her back legs. She was able to look the Grand Inquisitor in the eyes, even as he stepped slowly away from her more imposing posture.
She placed her front paws on her hips in a mock of the position she took when defiantly speaking to the Grand Inquisitor earlier. The familiarity seemed to give the elder man pause, and he tilted his head inquisitively.
“Rest assured, sir, that I’m very much in control of my faculties,” she explained. “My imposing visage is in no way an underpinning of a monster hidden within. It’s merely, forgive the pun, another face that I wear.”
“Truly remarkable,” the Grand Inquisitor remarked. “Please, madam, I’ve seen enough. You may change back now.”
Mattie walked over to her discarded pile of clothes on the floor and reached down, retrieving her blouse from the pile. She held it tightly between her paw and opposable thumb, feeling the fabric even through the thick pads on her palm.
“If it’s all the same, gentlemen,” Mattie said, “I would appreciate the courtesy of turning around once more. I’ll be returning to human form as naked as a newborn babe.”
Simon invited the men to his side. Again, they turned toward the far wall. The sound of her fur sloughing from her body was nauseating, and Simon hated the thought of the filth that was certainly piled upon the Grand Inquisitor’s immaculately kept office. Within seconds, Mattie cleared her throat and the men turned toward her.
She was fully dressed once more, looking very similar to the way she had appeared upon her arrival, save for the new dampness to her hair. At her feet, a gelatin oozed across the ground, intermixed with faint clouts of white hair. As they watched, the sludge evaporated, filling the room with a musky mist before dissipating completely. The floor appeared slick with moisture but otherwise untarnished.
The Grand Inquisitor motioned toward the chairs on the near side of his desk. He walked around the table and sat in his own high-backed chair.
As they sat, he glanced toward Mattie. “You’re not at all what I expected.”
Mattie smiled reassuringly. “I’ve heard that many more times than you would believe.”
“No, no, I’m quite certain I know exactly how many times you’ve heard that phrase recently,” he replied, glancing toward Simon and Luthor.
“Forgive the intrusion, sir,” Luthor said as the Grand Inquisitor made eye contact, “but I feel that we need to discuss what happens next. You’ve seen now that there’s far more to Ms. Hawke than a mere title like ‘werewolf’ can truly do justice.”
The apothecary glanced nervously toward Simon, as though he realized he had suddenly overstepped his bounds as a mere observer. Despite his awkward position, he cleared his throat and continued.
“I guess what I’m asking, sir, is… what are your intentions?”
The Grand Inquisitor sat back in his chair and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I would refrain from providing an answer at this time.”
Luthor began to speak but the Grand Inquisitor raised his hand, silencing him. “That’s not to say that I’ve made a decision one way or another. You’ve provided me far more to consider than I would have thought possible when this day began.”
Simon nodded. “Sir, we understand the conundrum in which we’ve placed you and, for that, we apologize.”
“As well you should,” the elder man quickly replied. “Mr. Strong and Ms. Hawke, please give us the room. There is some Inquisitor business that I must address with Inquisitor Whitlock.”
Luthor glanced nervously toward the Inquisitor, but Simon nodded his approval. Hesitantly, Luthor and Mattie stood from their chairs. They walked to the door, opened it, and disappeared into the hallway. The door swung shut behind them and closed with a click of its lock.
Simon took a deep breath as he looked at his former mentor’s somber expression. “Sir, I believe I can explain—”
“Have you taken a leave of your senses?” the Grand Inquisitor asked, striking the report with his open hand. Simon leapt at the sound. “You have brought a werewolf into the heart of our kingdom, within a stone’s throw from the castle itself? Have you gone mad?”
“You’ve read my report, sir,” Simon replied calmly. “You’ve seen Ms. Hawke with your own eyes. You know that things are a bit more complicated than we originally believed.”
Simon leaned forward in his chair as he continued. “These are our citizens, not monsters ripped from the bosom of the Rift. They aren’t here to overthrow our sovereignty. Quite the opposite—they’
re men and women loyal to the crown.”
The Grand Inquisitor threw up his hands in disgust. “For someone so astute, you are absolutely blinded by this case. Bringing her here puts us all at risk. I don’t merely mean your life and that of your apothecary companion. I don’t even mean my own life, since I am now privy to your report. If word were to escape of what you’ve done, it would tarnish the very credibility of our organization. Our name and reputation would be worthless, if the people knew that we harbored monsters.”
Simon bit his lip until he tasted coppery blood in his mouth. “What would you have done, were our roles reversed? Would you have slaughtered the tribesmen? I ask simply because I know I couldn’t. I’m many things, sir, but I’m not an executioner.”
The Grand Inquisitor leaned back in his chair and brushed the stray strands of hair from his face. “The three corpses that you brought with you from Haversham would say otherwise. You are very much an executioner, Simon. That’s the very expectation of being an Inquisitor.”
Simon shook his head. “On the contrary, sir, that’s the very definition of being a Pellite. We’re supposed to be better than they are.”
The two men sat in silence, staring intently at one another in a quiet battle of wills. The Grand Inquisitor finally reached up and stroked his chin thoughtfully.
Taking Simon’s report from Haversham, he closed it. He opened a drawer beside him and placed the report into it. With a key he retrieved from around his neck, he locked it tightly, ensuring it would be available for his eyes only.
“You’ve lost some perspective, Simon, perspective about what it is you were commissioned to do for the crown. You jeopardized everything we have worked for over the past decade, though your reasons are a mystery to me. Return to your homes and await my response. Whatever you do, Inquisitor, keep her close to your side at all times. You walk a fine line and play a very dangerous game with all your lives.”
Simon frowned but nodded his consent. “In the interim, sir, we would ask the same discretion from you.”
The Grand Inquisitor frowned as well. “You have some gall, but I shall grant your request.”
Simon stood, understanding their meeting was at an end. “Thank you, sir. I look forward to your next missive.”
He quickly exited the Grand Inquisitor’s office, pulling the door shut behind him. Luthor sighed disappointedly when he noticed Simon’s expression, though the Inquisitor revealed nothing of his private conversation. For a long moment, they merely stood in the hallway, absorbing all that had transpired.
“Everyone looks like a ghost has passed over their grave,” Mattie said. “What happened after we left?”
“Let’s just agree that it certainly could have gone worse and leave it at that,” Simon finally said, breaking the sullen mood that had settled over the group.
The Inquisitor turned away from the pair and walked toward the building’s entrance. Luthor shook his head and took Mattie’s hand, leading her down the hall and past a small throng of conversing Pellites, as they followed Simon’s departure.
“I wasn’t being flippant earlier,” Simon said as they rode in the back of the automobile. “It absolutely could have gone worse.”
The clunky, black car rattled along the cobblestone street as the taxi driver drove them toward their respective townhouses.
“It could have also gone far better, sir,” Luthor said morosely. “In what bizarre world did you believe that the Grand Inquisitor would be a champion for acceptance of a werewolf in Callifax?”
Simon chose not to reply, instead glancing out the window at the buildings that rolled slowly by.
“I’m not entirely certain what all this means for me,” Mattie said nervously. “I know I wasn’t taken from his chamber in shackles, but somehow, I doubt I’m truly a free woman any longer.”
“You’re not a prisoner,” Simon replied without turning back toward them, “but it would be wise to stay close for the foreseeable future.”
“So in essence I’m shackled to you by invisible manacles?” she asked, disgusted. “It’s not a reassuring solution to our problem.”
“Then what shall we do from here?” Luthor asked. “Will you take up residence on my couch to ensure we don’t leave Callifax in the dead of night?”
Simon turned back toward them and sighed. “I don’t have the answers you seek, either of you. I don’t intend to suspend my life at the behest of the Grand Inquisitor, and neither should either of you.”
“Are you proposing we just continue our lives as though none of this transpired, sir?” Luthor asked.
“To a degree, that’s exactly what I mean,” Simon said, suddenly more enthusiastic about the conversation at hand.
Luthor arched his eyebrow, knowing Simon’s varying moods all too well. “I presume you have something planned?”
“Veronica has been begging to meet Mattie, and I believe tonight might be the best opportunity. There’s a film showing at the Majestic, about which Veronica has heard nothing but rave reviews. Come out tonight and watch a moving picture with us.”
Luthor glanced toward Mattie, who merely shrugged noncommittally. The apothecary wasn’t sure Mattie had ever had the pleasure of watching a film, but the idea of leaving the townhouse tonight seemed mentally exhausting.
“Perhaps another night, sir. Tonight might be better spent recuperating from our ordeal.”
Mattie placed her hand on his. “No. Though I’m loathed to admit it, Simon might very well be correct in this instance.”
Simon furrowed his brow. “Why does everyone keep adding a caveat every time they admit that I’m correct? As often as I am correct, it’s an exhausting habit.”
Mattie smiled, though she wasn’t entirely sure if Simon was speaking in jest or not. “We’ve spent very little time outside the four walls of the townhouse since our arrival and the few misadventures we’ve taken into the city, like today for instance, have not ended as I would have desired. A film, and meeting the mysterious Veronica Dawn, would be a welcomed distraction.”
Luthor shrugged. “It appears we’re accepting your invitation.”
Simon smiled broadly. “Excellent. The film begins promptly at eight tonight.”
The taxi rolled to a stop before their townhouses. The driver climbed quickly from his seat and opened the door so that the passengers could disembark. Simon set his top hat on his head as he climbed from the taxi, letting the brim of his hat block the warm sunlight. Luthor and Mattie followed suit. Reaching into his pocket, Simon retrieved a coin for the fare. The driver thanked them before climbing behind the wheel and sputtering away. The air was suddenly filled with noxious, black smoke as the automobile coughed soot from its tailpipe.
As the air cleared, Simon coughed softly. “I will have to meet Veronica before our date, so shall we simply meet at the Majestic at eight o’clock?”
Luthor nodded as he led Mattie toward their shared townhouse. “That sounds perfect, sir. We’ll see you then.”
The Majestic was a fairly nondescript building, nestled between taller apartment complexes. The two-story theater had a painted sign hanging from the upstairs balcony, announcing the name of the building. A smaller wooden sign hung below the Majestic’s main sign, depicting the film that was currently showing. Blockish letters on the smaller sign read that tonight’s film was “A Night on the Train,” a film of which Luthor was completely unfamiliar. Truth be told, it had been ages since he had watched a moving picture. His enthusiasm was only slightly less than Mattie, who stood enraptured beside him.
“Do you see Simon?” Luthor asked, perusing the small throng of people milling about outside the theater.
Mattie craned her neck but quickly shook her head. “I don’t, but we are early. Perhaps they have yet to arrive.”
“Luthor. Mattie,” Simon called from the midst of the crowd. He stepped out of the flow of pedestrian traffic with Veronica beside him. The brunette wore a far more formal dress than Luthor would have believed possible, cons
idering her occupation. She smiled broadly at the apothecary, despite knowing his general feelings toward hers and Simon’s relationship.
“Luthor, it’s so good to see you again,” Veronica said. “This must be the lovely Matilda, about whom I’ve heard so much.” She leaned in close to Mattie and spoke just loudly enough for the two gentlemen to overhear. “You’d be absolutely amazed how often he speaks of you, as though you two share some devious secret.”
Simon arched an eyebrow and smiled apologetically. “Nothing devious, I assure you, my love. Matilda simply has a practically animalistic personality.”
Luthor frowned and glanced warningly toward his friend. In response, Simon merely smiled knowingly.
Mattie extended her hand to Veronica. “It’s truly a pleasure to finally meet you, Veronica. Simon insists on referring to me by Matilda, but Mattie is just fine among friends.”
Veronica shook her hand. “Then Mattie it shall be, since I’m assuming we’ll become friends. It would do well to have another lady’s touch around these brutish oafs.”
Mattie glanced at the two gentlemen. “I do believe we will become friends, though I should warn you that ‘lady’ may be far too flattering a word for my capabilities.”
“Has Luthor told you what it is I do for a profession?” Veronica asked bluntly.
Mattie nodded, though she glanced toward Luthor for assistance in what she assumed would quickly become an awkward situation.
“Then you’re already well aware that being a true lady isn’t exactly in my vocabulary either,” Veronica finished, defusing the palpable nervousness.
Simon laughed, and the effect was intoxicating. The quartet continued laughing as Simon led them into the theater, handing their tickets to the doorman.
The interior of the Majestic was dimly lit. A number of electric lights were mounted to the wall, but their light failed to reach to the center of the expansive room. Most of the illumination was centered on the large, white screen hung from the back of the raised stage. The lights were covered in wooden clamshells, focusing all their light solely on the stage itself rather than blinding the audience members.
The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) Page 7
