The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) (22 page)

“What are we going to do, sir?” Luthor asked in a low whisper so as not to be overheard. “They know. Whether they found the bodies or the ancient vampire told them, they know.”

“Calm yourself, Luthor,” Simon replied. “I know that they know. I know that you know that they know. They very possible know that I know that you… to hell with it. Everyone knows.”

Mattie frowned. “Don’t be so hasty to disregard him, Simon. It’s still three hours until the train arrives. We can’t very well go stand on the platform and hope that Wriggleton and his goons simply leave us be for that time.”

“We can lock ourselves in our rooms,” Luthor offered.

Simon glanced back and forth between the apothecary and werewolf. He smiled devilishly, an expression that Luthor knew all too well translated into trouble.

“Sir?” Luthor asked.

“I think we shall go downstairs and enjoy a drink. Then, with our accomplice bartender in tow, we shall go wait at the train platform.”

“Forget about Gregory,” Luthor pleaded. “We can come back for him when we have numbers on our side.”

Simon shook his head. “He took a risk to warn us. We shall take a risk with saving his life.”

Mattie leaned against the wall calmly and picked at the dirt under her fingernails. “It doesn’t solve the problem of the townsfolk. They won’t leave us alone once we’ve reached the platform.”

Simon arched his eyebrow toward Mattie. “We’re sorely out of options. If we stay here, they’ll certainly knock down the doors to get to us. If we go outside, they’ll come after us. If we flee into the woods, they’ll pursue only until nightfall, until the true hunters awaken. No, our best option is to take our chances in the open, where we can’t get backed into a corner but are still within distance of the train when it arrives. Besides, my dear, I’m not concerned. After all, they’re only human. We’ve handled far worse.”

“I hate when you’re like this, sir,” Luthor interrupted.

“Like what, Luthor?”

“Brash and overconfident. Somehow, you walk away practically injury free while I wind up visiting a chiropractor upon our return to Callifax, just to reset the number of misaligned bones throughout my body.”

Simon turned toward the stairs as he continued the conversation. “Nonsense. Need I remind you that I was quite manhandled by Gideon Dosett no more than a month ago?”

“Need I remind you that you left me to my own devices with the very same man and let me take a good thrashing before you made your dramatic, if not late, entrance?”

They reached the stairs and began descending. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Not so long as we both live and possibly even after one of us has passed… preferably you.”

As they reached the tavern, they realized it was busier now than it had been when they had first entered. The mirth shared between the men faded away as Simon led the trio to empty seats at the bar. The bartender gave them all stern looks before approaching.

“What do you want?” Gregory asked, his voice rumbling from his broad chest.

“Scotch,” Simon answered, “though preferably in a glass if that’s even an option here.”

Gregory glanced at the other two, who merely shook their heads.

“People are watching us,” Luthor muttered.

Simon kept his gaze directly forward but nodded slightly. “They’re doing more than that.”

He could feel the stifling presence of the other bar patrons pressing in around them. From his periphery, he couldn’t see that anyone had moved, but the mood of the tavern had clearly shifted away from their favor.

“We should leave,” Mattie said, her voice carrying from the other side of Luthor. “This isn’t a very defensible location, at least not against so many.”

Gregory sat a tumbler of scotch in front of Simon. The Inquisitor sighed contently as he grasped the ice and liquor filled glass. “See, now was this truly so difficult?”

As the bartender began to turn away, Simon reached out and grasped the large man’s wrist. He didn’t bother concealing his actions, nor did he lower his voice when he spoke. Gregory tried to pull his arm away, but Simon’s grip was like steel.

“You took a chance with your warning,” Simon said to the larger man. “We’re leaving Whitten Hall aboard the next train. Come with us. We can keep you safe.”

Gregory furrowed his brow in confusion before looking up. His gaze fell past Simon’s shoulder, even as the Inquisitor heard someone approaching.

“Gregory didn’t write the note,” Tom said as he took the seat beside Simon. “I did.”

Tom placed a napkin on the bar between them. It carried the same warning as the one they had seen previously in identical handwriting.

“And it wasn’t a warning,” Tom continued. “It was a threat.”

Simon released the bartender’s arm and slid his hands toward him. “Well, this is certainly awkward.”

Simon lashed out with his open hand, catching Tom in the middle of his chest. Caught by surprise, Tom tumbled from the barstool and crashed to the floor below.

The nearby townsfolk leapt to their feet, holding assorted makeshift weaponry in their hands. Knives, clubs, and even mining picks were visible as they were drawn from bags or concealed beside table legs.

Simon threw back his jacket and reached for his revolver. As his fingers closed over the weapon, something heavy struck him solidly across the back of the head. Simon’s head exploded in pain, and lights danced before his vision. He stumbled forward unsteadily, the revolver slipping from his grasp even as it slid free from its holster. He barely heard the clatter of the silver weapon striking the ground. Darkness was consuming the dancing lights in his vision until his view of the bar was nothing more than pinpricks of light at the end of long, dark tunnels. Though it seemed like it was happening miles away, he could sense blood trickling through his hair and down the back of his neck.

Simon’s eyes fell closed as he pitched forward. He was unconscious long before he struck the ground.

Simon’s head lolled to the side as they carried him into the windowless upstairs room. Luthor stole a glance at his mentor, but the Inquisitor’s eyes didn’t so much as flutter. The apothecary wanted to ensure Simon wasn’t too badly injured, aside from the visible welts and bruises, but he could do little with his hands bound behind him and a dirty rag stuffed into his mouth.

Mattie stumbled along beside him, driven forward by the same coarse hands that shoved Luthor every time he slowed his pace. A small trickle of blood stained the leg of her pants from where she had fallen on the stairs, but she seemed otherwise unharmed. Despite being similarly bound, they had granted Mattie the decency of not placing a soiled rag in her mouth. She carried her head high, even when being pushed unceremoniously.

“Here,” Tom Wriggleton said as the group stopped before an unmarked door. Gone was the man’s pleasant demeanor, replaced instead by a stoic, if not angry, visage. Tom had refused to answer any of Luthor’s questions, even as he barked orders at the other townsfolk. “Put them in the closet.”

Someone opened the door and Gregory walked into the narrow broom closet, carrying Simon in his arms. The Inquisitor offered no resistance or even a grunt of anguish as the bartender dropped him heavily onto the floor. Luthor and Mattie were likewise driven into the inner enclosure. Firm hands on their shoulders pushed them both to the floor. One of the guards gruffly brushed his hand across Luthor’s face, intentionally knocking the man’s glasses from his nose. They fell to the floor and skidded across the hardwood.

With Simon’s unconscious form in the middle of the narrow broom closet, neither Luthor nor Mattie had room to fully extend their legs. Instead, they sat with their knees pressed nearly to their chest as they looked up at their captives.

“What should we do with them?” Gregory asked, his voice filled with bile.

“Keep them here,” Tom replied, his answer no less venomous. “When the chancellor awakes, he can decide their fate. Keep guards posted outside the door. The three of them are crafty. I don’t want any of them escaping before the sun sets.”

Without another word, they slammed the door shut, casting the trio into near darkness. Footsteps could be heard outside the room as a few guards shifted into position.

Luthor spat out the rag, which had only been stuffed into his mouth rather than tied in place. Extending his tongue, he scraped it across his upper teeth in an attempt to wipe free the awful taste that now filled his mouth. He spat onto the wood floor in disgust.

“Are you all right?” Mattie asked. She shifted closer to Luthor to see him in the dim light.

Luthor arched his eyebrows as he realized there was light to be seen from within the close confines of their room. The slats that formed the outer wall were warped from exposure to the elements. He could feel the humid breeze seeping from between the boards and could see rays of sunlight filtering through, albeit blurrily without his wire-framed glasses.

“I’m fine,” Luthor replied, “though I’m far more concerned about Simon’s well-being.”

Though he was still shrouded in darkness, they could see the Inquisitor’s swollen cheek. Though Gregory’s makeshift club had been more than enough to render Simon unconscious, the other townsfolk had gleefully joined in assaulting his prostrate form.

Luthor felt the sweat drip down his back, though he doubted it was solely from the humidity in the stifling room. He pulled against the bindings on his wrists, but the rope held firmly.

As he strained, the sound of a train’s whistle split the air. The ear-piercing howl blasted for nearly a minute before falling silent.

“The train is arriving,” Mattie said matter-of-factly. “We need to ensure we’re on board when it departs.”

“I couldn’t agree more, but I don’t think our captors would be so accommodating.”

Mattie glanced toward the narrow beams of light between the loose boards. “How long do you suppose it will remain at the station?”

Luthor shrugged. He squinted toward the beams as well, but the view was blurry without his spectacles. “I suppose as long as it takes to unload their passengers and baggage. I don’t think they were in the station longer than a half hour at most when we arrived, and I feel that we would have had more passengers, seeing as how Simon handily shot and killed the false vampire on board.”

Mattie frowned. “That doesn’t leave us much time to escape, overpower our guards, and board the train.”

“Not to mention the need to defend the train from what will most certainly be invaders, who will more than likely assault the engineer first and foremost, thereby disabling the train. I don’t know that it’s possible.”

“It is possible, if we act now. We need to check on Simon, and we need to escape.” Mattie glanced first toward the door before letting her gaze fall to Simon, ensuring the Inquisitor was still asleep. “Do that
thing
that you do and set us free.”

“That
thing
that I do?”

“Now is not the time for you to feign ignorance. Magic us free.”

Luthor glanced nervously toward his mentor and shook his head. “I can’t take that chance, not with Simon in the room and guards posted just outside.”

“Damn them and damn you, too, Luthor, if you won’t save yourself,” Mattie replied angrily. “Who cares if Simon discovers your secret, if it’s being used to save us all. If Simon can’t see the benefit of having a wizard in his entourage, then he’s a blasted fool as well.”

“What if I were to use my magic? Then what shall we do afterward? Shall we kill everyone in the town on our way to freedom?”

“Yes, if it be necessary,” Mattie replied, exasperated. “They certainly didn’t harbor any reservations about killing us.”

“They didn’t kill us.”

Mattie frowned deeper. “You sounded an awful lot like Simon, just now, arguing semantics as though this were a science experiment for which the outcome is somehow a mystery. They’re vampires, Luthor. There’s only one outcome, and I certainly don’t have to wait until nightfall to find out what it is.”

Mattie huffed and pulled on the ropes tied around her wrists. With a violent tear, the rope snapped neatly in half. She brought her hands before her, showing the white werewolf fur coating her arms and ending in padded and clawed hands.

“You may have reservations, Luthor, but I most certainly do not. If they think they know the monsters in their town, they’re about to be thoroughly surprised.”

She crouched beside Simon as the fur sloughed from her arms, revealing the pink flesh beneath. She touched his cheek gingerly, probing the swollen skin and searching for broken bones beneath. Her hand traced toward the back of his skull until she felt the matted blood from where Gregory had struck the Inquisitor. Though she desperately wished him awake, she didn’t envy the headache that would accompany his waking.

Satisfied that there was no permanent damage done, Mattie stood. With a discontented sigh, Luthor began tracing a hex onto the floor behind him, one that would easily free him from the ropes.

As Mattie stepped toward the door, the floor beneath her feet creaked loudly from her weight. Luthor froze as he glanced nervously toward the door, though Mattie didn’t slow her stride at all.

They could hear the guards shuffling outside as they talked in hushed whispers. The handle groaned as it turned and the door was flung open.

Luthor squinted against the invasion of light. There were more guards beyond the door than what he had originally presumed, all of whom were armed.

Mattie lunged toward the nearest guard, bearing him to the ground. She growled gutturally as the transformation began to overtake her. Driving her elbow into the prone townsperson’s face, she scratched at her chest with her free hand, drawing bloody streaks across her skin. Her eyes locked on a guard against the far wall, and she coiled her legs underneath her to lunge.

Before she could leap, however, the butt of a rifle was driven into the side of her head. Mattie rolled to the side, turning a painful strike into a mere glancing blow. She could feel the blood seeping from her temple, and her thoughts grew cloudy as she tried to concentrate on her attackers.

Within the room, Luthor stole a glance once again toward Simon before beginning his rune anew. Though it wouldn’t take long to create the spell, he knew the battle beyond the broom closet would be over in a matter of seconds, for good or for bad.

Mattie rose to meet one of the guards, who approached her wielding an axe handle like a club. She caught his wrist as he swung at her and drove her fist painfully into his gut. The guard doubled over in pain, allowing her to drive her knee into his face. Though she had yet to transform, her strength was still impressively greater than a normal human, regardless of the form she took.

Mattie cringed as she was struck from behind. The club landed across her shoulder blades, driving the wind from her lungs. She swung blindly behind her as she stumbled away, but her efforts were met with another strike, this time across her outstretched arm. Before she could recover, the butt of a rifle was driven into her stomach. As she bent forward, the club was brought down across her back once more.

The fight left her even as she collapsed onto the hardwood floor. Though not unconscious, her body burned with agony, a pain that radiated down her spine and settled firmly in her lower back.

Rough hands grasped her beneath her armpits and lifted her upper body from the floor. With her legs trailing behind her, they dragged her back into the broom closet.

Luthor paused once more, his rune nearly completed. One of the guards knelt before him and scowled.

“You want to try to escape, too?” the man growled.

Luthor quickly shook his head. “No, I’m quite fine where I am.”

The guard smiled humorlessly. As the man stood, he drove his heel down onto Luthor’s discarded glasses. The lenses shattered as the frames bent.

Luthor groaned inwardly. “That was entirely unnecessary.”

They ignored the apothecary as they bound Mattie once more. Her hands were tied behind her again, as were her feet. A cord was run between her bound limbs and pulled tightly until her hands and feet nearly touched one another. In her wounded state, she moaned loudly, but her struggles were weak.

Without another word of warning, the guards stood and exited the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

Luthor slid to Mattie’s side. He traced the rune behind him, and the ropes untangled of their own volition. They fell to the ground behind him as he brought his arms to Mattie’s side.

“Hold on, Mattie,” he whispered. “I’ll have you untied in a moment.”

“Leave me be,” she said hoarsely. She turned her face toward him, her disdain evident. “You’re a coward, Luthor Strong. You have every opportunity to be a hero the likes of which this kingdom has never seen, and instead, you cower for fear of being discovered.”

She turned her head away from him, though her final words carried easily through the room. “Leave me bound. I’d rather take my chances with the vampires than be beholden to further conversation with you.”

Stunned, Luthor stopped, his hands hovering above the bound redhead. Her words stung far worse than anything he had experienced before. While his physical injuries would heal in time, he had no spell to repair his emotional wounds.

Slowly, he slid back to his place against the far wall. He absently drew a rune in the air, and the shattered glass of his lenses fused together once more. The metal frames of his spectacles bent into the general facsimile of an oval and the lenses rolled as though sentient back into their place. Luthor picked up the glasses and placed them back on his nose before wrapping his arms protectively around his knees.

The train’s whistle seemed distant as it sounded a second time. A hiss of steam followed as the train began moving away from the Whitten Hall platform. Luthor hung his head even as he imagined the mine’s foreman welcoming the new employees, though Luthor knew he was truthfully welcoming them to a hasty demise.

The train had left as quickly as it had come, on its way back to Callifax. It would be eight days until it returned, though Luthor knew that eight days was far too long to survive in such an inhospitable land. Mattie had been correct that their fates were sealed. Unfortunately, with both Mattie and Simon injured, it would have been impossible for Luthor to escape while carrying them both in tow. He would have been captured almost immediately. Likewise, escaping alone while leaving the Inquisitor and werewolf to their fates was never an option. His chance came with Mattie and he hesitated, choosing to protect his secret rather than protect his friends. Perhaps she had been correct. Perhaps he had spent so long protecting the fact that he was a wizard, infected by magic in a land where magic was an abomination, that he had grown weak. Indecision had stolen his power and hesitation his pride. Luthor hung his head in shame as he wallowed in his self-pity.