Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1) (27 page)

“Absolutely,” Luthor said as he stepped away from the bed. “Though I was able to stop the bleeding as well.”

Simon furrowed his brow as he stepped past the apothecary and sat on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward, examining the bullet wound on her shoulder.

“This is remarkable,” he said. “The wound has already begun to scab. I doubt I’ll need to do anything in her treatment except for monitoring the wound for signs of infection.”

Simon turned toward Luthor. “You say you were able to stop the bleeding?”

Luthor picked up the towel Simon had brought with him from the tavern downstairs and blotted the sweat from his forehead. “I might have overstated my role in her healing process. I did little other than to wipe away the pooling blood.”

Simon turned his attention back to the wound. “This is a remarkable rate of healing. Do you think that this is a direct indication of the werewolf’s physiology, that they have a rapid rate of healing? I noticed the burned werewolf in their village had recovered remarkably since I set him ablaze at the drill site. Perhaps it’s a side effect of an elevated metabolism necessary to maintain transformations.”

“It certainly seems plausible,” Luthor remarked.

As Simon began musing about the multitude of theories, Luthor collapsed into the chair at the writing desk and sighed with a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

Simon sat in the chair with his feet propped up on the edge of the bed. His top hat was pulled over his eyes, and he snored faintly with every exhalation. Luthor looked disapprovingly at the Inquisitor but felt the bone weariness as well. He would have much preferred to sleep but refused to rest until he was sure Mattie would recover from her injuries. Much like Luthor and Simon when they had been rescued from the snow, Mattie had slept solidly through the night and well into the next morning.

Luthor lowered his head to his arm and felt the weight of his exhaustion settling over him. He should have slept after expending so much magic but had opted to stay by her bedside. In hindsight, knowing how thoroughly and deeply she slept while recovering, he could have rested.

He was nearly asleep when he heard the bed sheets rustling. He lifted his head as Mattie moaned softly, a sound more akin to awakening rather than pain. She lifted her arms above her head to stretch and her upper torso slid free of the sheets. Luthor blushed at the sight and hastily grabbed the sheets, pulling them up to cover her.

Mattie’s eyes opened at the sudden movement, and she screamed as she realized she was exposed and that strange men were sitting by her bedside.

The scream startled Simon, whose feet flew from the bed. His backward momentum toppled the chair, and he collapsed unceremoniously into the corner of the room.

“Mattie, relax,” Luthor said as he released the sheets. “It’s us, Inquisitor Whitlock and me. You’re safe, just calm yourself.”

“Yes, do calm yourself,” Simon remarked grumpily as he untangled himself from the fallen chair.

She pulled the sheet up to her chin and glanced back and forth between the two men. Though recognition was evident in her expression, she was still clearly wary of the situation.

“Where am I?” she asked nervously.

“In our room,” Luthor replied, “though not for any reason that would be ungentlemanly. You were hurt, and we treated your wounds.”

Mattie furrowed her brow and lifted the sheet slightly. She could see the puckered scab from the gunshot wound on her shoulder and still felt the throbbing in her head. “What happened to me?”

“You were shot,” Simon replied matter-of-factly.

“And kicked,” Luthor added, staring at the Inquisitor.

“And kicked,” Simon conceded.

“I don’t…” She grasped the side of her head and shook it slightly. “I don’t quite recall what happened. Everything seems to be a blur.”

Luthor retrieved the rest of his potion from her bedside and offered her the drink. “Take a sip of this. It will help with the pain and confusion.”

Mattie took the glass hesitantly and sniffed the brew. Her nose wrinkled as the scent of strong alcohol reached her. “I have no doubt this will help with the pain, but I doubt it will do much but further cloud my mind.”

Luthor smiled. “It’s a compound of my own design. The alcohol merely masks the more pungent of flavors.”

She looked at him hesitantly before raising the glass to her lips. Taking a long draw from the glass, she finished half of the remaining liquid. Simon nodded appreciatively, knowing the alcohol Luthor added to the glass once the Inquisitor returned from the bar would have been so potent that few people would do more than sip the drink. He respected her constitution.

She shook her head and blinked away the burning sensation that settled in her chest. “Thank you. This is exactly what I needed.”

“What are you doing back in Haversham?” Simon asked abruptly.

Luthor shook his head. “Give her a moment to wake up, recover, or both before we start berating her with questions.”

“No,” Mattie said, “it’s fine. I’d rather find those very same answers myself.”

Simon righted his chair and moved it beside the bed before sitting once more. “What happened after your pack left the village?”

Mattie narrowed her eyes as she concentrated. Simon knew the feeling all too well, as she slowly pulled aside the veil covering her memories. They would come in time, he knew, but for now, she would instead suffer through bouts of confusion.

“We…” she began, before pausing and pinching the bridge of her nose. As she began again, her words were slow and deliberate as she struggled to recall the memory. “We went to the refinery, intent on destroying the structure this time rather than merely damaging it like we had done before. Only it was a trap.”

Her eyes widened as the memory became clearer. “It was a trap, just like you had warned. It wasn’t just Gideon’s men waiting for us; it was Gideon himself. The sight of him sent us into a frenzy. We knew that we now had the chance to end this war between our people once and for all.”

Her voice trailed off and Simon frowned, already guessing what occurred. “What happened then, Mattie?”

She shook her head as though the memory itself didn’t make sense. “He spoke to us. Nothing more, merely told us to stop and that he wasn’t our enemy.” She flinched at the thought, as though it caused her physical pain. “His words pierced us far worse than had we been stabbed. One moment, I wanted nothing more than to kill the man and the next… the next I stopped, just as he asked.”

“He’s a demon,” Luthor said. “We warned you of his power before you left, warned you that you were rushing headlong into a trap. His words are like venom to the mind, infiltrating your every thought.”

“His words are fingers that massage their way into your mind,” Simon added, having experienced the effects first hand. “No matter how physically or mentally strong you may be, your mind is far more susceptible to attack than you would believe. Trust me.”

“How did you arrive in Haversham?” Luthor asked.

“I don’t recall,” Mattie replied. “The last thing I remember was Gideon’s orders to transform, and then I woke up here. How did I get shot?”

“That’s neither here nor there,” Simon hastily said. “What matters is that you’re cured of Gideon’s hold over you.”

“Until I see him again,” she remarked. “What’s to stop him from enslaving me once more?”

“My concoction,” Luthor explained proudly. “It not only severs his connection to your mind, it protects you from being enthralled once again. Once you’ve been treated, you’re for all intents and purposes cured of the demonic power.”

Mattie started to sit up but quickly paused as she recalled her nakedness beneath the sheet. “Then we need to find the others with all haste and cure them as well. And you need to find me clothes. In fact, let’s start with the second of those requests.”

Simon and Luthor exchanged glances. “We were able to procure some clothing for you, though I’m not entirely convinced you’ll approve.”

Simon stood and walked toward the closet, pulling the doors aside. From within, he retrieved an off-the-shoulder blouse, long skirt, and leather bodice. He held the articles in one hand while collecting knee-high leather boots with the other. He turned toward her and held them aloft for her to examine.

Mattie immediately frowned, but motioned for him to bring the clothing closer. The Inquisitor returned to his seat and set them down beside her on the bed. She sat upright and sorted through the articles with one hand while keeping the sheet pressed against her body with the other.

“Neither of you have ever had the pleasure of dressing a woman before, have you?”

Simon flushed, and Luthor frowned. “Simon has watched many a woman undress at the burlesque house, if that counts for anything at all.”

Mattie sighed. “These will have to do.”

She looked at both men, who sat unmoving in their respective seats.

“Perhaps I made myself unclear a moment ago,” she continued more deliberately. “I need a bath and will be dressing now and since I am starting from a state of complete undress, neither of you will be present for this process.”

“Of course,” Simon said, climbing quickly to his feet.

“That makes perfect sense,” Luthor added as he slid off the bed.

Both men walked to the door and nodded politely to the woman. “We’ll be just outside if you need us.”

They closed the door behind them as she stood to dress. With nothing else to do while they waited, they stepped over to the banister that overlooked the stairwell into the tavern below.

“She’s looking well,” Simon remarked.

Luthor nodded. “Yes, she looks rather exquisite. You’d hardly known you shot her.”

“Come off it, Luthor.”

“Or kicked her in the head, for that matter,” Luthor chided.

“You’re truly not going to let this go, are you?”

“So long as I have breath in my lungs and the ability to privately ridicule you, I will never let things like this go. These moments are the only thing that reminds me that you’re capable of fallacies and, therefore, still a human and not merely an Inquisitor automaton.”

They stood in relative silence, listening to the sound of chairs being moved aside and plates of lunch being served in the tavern below. They had wiped away much of the dirt from her face and the mud from her hair while she slept, but neither man felt brave enough to clean the rest of her body while she was unconscious. Her own level of cleaning, they realized, could take some time.

The door behind them eventually opened, and they both turned. Mattie stood in the doorway, looking far better in their amalgamation of clothing than either man would have presumed. The off-the-shoulder blouse exposed the healing gunshot wound, but both men agreed it was a good thing to allow it to heal without the irritation of fabric over it. Her curls of red hair, now cleaned and brushed, flowed in ringlets over her shoulders.

“Do I look acceptable?” she asked.

“Fantastic,” Luthor remarked before immediately blushing. “What I meant to say is that you look well, all things considered.”

“Thank you, Mr. Strong. So tell me, Inquisitor, what do we do next?”

“We have much to discuss,” he replied, “but I would feel much safer discussing such things in our room, if it’s all the same.”

Simon glanced over the railing once more before ushering the group back inside. Once in, he closed and locked the door behind him.

“Now, Ms. Hawke, I need you to concentrate and try to recall a memory for me,” Simon said. “If you are here in Haversham, is it safe to assume the rest of your tribe is here as well?”

Mattie sat down on the edge of the bed and shook her head. “I honestly don’t know.”

Simon knelt in front of her and took both her hands in his. “I know this is difficult. I’ve been in very similar circumstances recently. Right now, however, I need you to break through whatever fog remains in your mind and search for those memories.”

She nodded. “I’ll try.”

Mattie closed her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered, and her brow creased with concentration. Simon flinched as she squeezed his hands tightly, as though battling through mental anguish.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Yes, I remember. He loaded us like cattle onto the back of a trailer and brought us back to the city. We were patrolling the streets, looking for the two of you.” Her eyes flew open. “They’re here, in Haversham. That means we can find them and free them as well, correct?”

Luthor crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. “We can, but it won’t be quite as easy as freeing you.”

She let go of Simon’s hands and looked toward the apothecary. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t it be as easy?”

Luthor shrugged. “Because we’re not dealing with a single demon-enthralled individual; we’re dealing with a large, hostile group. I seriously doubt we’ll be able to subdue so large a group and convince them to drink the concoction. I’m sorry, Mattie, but I just don’t know how to free them without addressing them individually and, forgive me, but your pack mentality doesn’t lend itself toward finding too many of them alone.”

“I was alone,” Mattie corrected.

“Indeed,” Simon interrupted, “but I believe that’s a side effect of your personality rather than a fluke. When you’re under Gideon’s servitude, who you are isn’t overwritten by the demon’s power. He manipulates parts of your personality, bending the whole to his will. You were by yourself because, dare I say it, you wanted to catch us alone, rather than as part of the pack?”

Mattie glanced toward Luthor, who arched his eyebrows inquisitively.

“There has to be a solution,” she begged. “We can’t leave them as his slaves.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Luthor said, “but I just don’t know another solution.”

“There’s always another solution, my good man,” Simon remarked with a knowing smile.

“What are you getting at, sir?”

Simon stood from his kneeling position before Mattie and walked over to his chair before sitting again. “The werewolves are here in Haversham, which means that our original plan B is no longer a lost cause.”

“It was plan C, if it’s all the same,” Luthor replied. “Though need I remind you that this whole discussion is still a moot argument? The werewolves may be here in town, but they’re hardly our friends. Truth be told, they weren’t our friends before falling under Gideon’s sway. Now instead of merely distrusting and disliking us, they’re actively trying to kill us.”

“Semantics,” Simon said dismissively with a wave of his hand. “They will help us if we can free them.”

“Which, bringing the argument full circle, is impossible. We lack the time and abilities necessary to subdue and convert them one at a time.”

Mattie politely raised her hand, interrupting the growing back and forth between the two men.

“Yes, Mattie?” Simon asked.

“Gideon Dosett converted us as a group; the whole pack in a single metaphorical wave of his hand. Can’t we do the same to release them from his spell? Perhaps we could spray them with the liquid as though from a hose?”

Simon shook his head. “If my understanding of Luthor’s brew is correct, and feel free to correct me if I’m not, the concoction has to be absorbed within the body. A spray would soak the skin but hardly enough would get into their mouths or absorbed through the mucus membranes of the eyes and nose. It would be an exercise in futility.”

Luthor shrugged apologetically. “He’s quite right, unfortunately. It has to be fully absorbed within the body. Ingestion seems to be the most effective technique.”

Simon sat upright, his face breaking into a broad smile. “It’s the most effective technique we’ve considered to date, and that’s only because we’ve had no need for a more effective delivery system.”

Luthor pushed away from the wall and walked toward the bed. “I know that look all too well, sir. What are you getting at?”

“The chemicals have to be properly absorbed in the body, correct?”

Luthor nodded. “They do.”

“Is fluid intake truly the most effective way to introduce a chemical into the blood stream?”

Luthor frowned. “Sir, you know I hate when you ask questions the answers to which you already know. Please do get to the point.”

“My point, dear chap, is that there is a far more effective way to introduce foreign chemicals into the body: through a gas. Inhaled through the mouth and nostrils, a gas is absorbed directly into the membranes of both the nose and lungs, transmitting quickly and efficiently directly into the blood stream. In this case, carried rapidly to the brain to… well, to do whatever it is your strange brew does when it destroys Gideon’s tenuous hold over his thralls.”

“It’s brilliant,” Luthor said, though the sarcasm was evident in his voice.

Mattie looked back and forth between the two men as though observing an intense tennis match.

“You don’t approve?” Simon asked.

“It’s not that I don’t approve, sir, it’s merely that we lack any way to deliver an aerosolized version of my liquid. In order to do so, we would need some sort of contraption that could take a liquid state and turn it into a gas. Unless I’ve greatly misjudged you, sir, we lack both the tools and the skills necessary to do something of the sort.”

“The skills, yes,” Simon said excitedly, climbing from his chair. “The tools, however, we might just have. In order to aerosolize a liquid, you would need pressurized canisters with some sort of hose work through which you could transmit the gas, correct?”

“Fine, I’ll pull on this string and see where it leads. Yes, sir, you would need pressurized canisters.”

“Tell me, Luthor, where have we seen pressurized canisters, mounted to backpacks, with already designed spraying capabilities?”

Luthor opened his mouth with a rude retort before being struck by a recent memory. “The flamethrowers.”

“The flamethrowers,” Simon confirmed. “The same ones they use to melt the thick layers of ice from the zeppelin docks and the doors leading in and out of the city. We have the tools readily available.”

“And the skills to modify the flamethrower?”

Simon smiled broadly. “I believe Mr. Orrick would have the skills necessary to convert the flamethrower.”

“And he just happens to be standing guard at the telegraph office,” Luthor concluded.

Mattie cleared her throat politely. “Do either of you realize how disturbing it is to see grown men finishing one another’s thoughts?”

Both men looked at her as though surprised she was still in the room.

“I understood next to nothing of what you just said,” she continued, “except that it appears we have a way ahead, correct?”

“Yes,” Luthor replied, “and yet at the same time, a resounding no. We may know where Mr. Orrick is, but that hardly answers our other conundrum from earlier about how to subdue six men without lethal means. Did we not discuss that we couldn’t do it alone?”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re no longer alone,” Simon said, turning toward Mattie. “Tell me, how are you feeling? Are you feeling up for a fight?”

Mattie stretched her wounded shoulder and nodded. “If it means freeing my people, then I’m ready to help however necessary.”

“Then it’s settled. We’ll leave tonight, collect Mr. Orrick, send the telegram, steal a flamethrower, create an aerosolized version of your concoction, and free the werewolves.” Simon sighed. “We have a busy night ahead of us.”

“I know where to find a flamethrower,” Mattie offered. “We saw a collection of them when Gideon brought us into the city.”

“Excellent,” Simon remarked. “That’s one less thing on our list.”

“We should get some rest between now and then,” Luthor offered, stifling a yawn.

“Indeed we should,” Simon agreed.

He started to return to his chair when Mattie stood, tapping Simon gently on the shoulder. As the Inquisitor turned, she swung her open hand, slapping him solidly on the face. Simon staggered, catching himself on the headboard of the bed.

“That was for shooting me, you ass!” she said, storming off toward the other side of the room.

Luthor suppressed a laugh as he walked after Mattie. “Yes, sir, I will be adding this moment to your list of private ridicules.”