Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1) (33 page)

“I’m glad to see you finally revealing yourself to me, wizard, but you’re a fool,” Gideon mocked, thrusting his blade toward Luthor’s chest. The apothecary was barely able to parry it aside before it pierced his chest. “You can’t cast if you can’t concentrate. Even the lowliest apprentice knows that. I have no intention of giving you another chance.”

The demon reared back and swung his rapier toward Luthor’s exposed hip. Luthor shifted his weight and brought his sword to bear with as much strength as he could muster. The two blades connected in an explosion of metal fragments. Luthor’s blade shattered from the impact and the demon’s momentum brought his forearm around, where it struck Luthor in his shoulder. The apothecary was thrown from his feet, where he collapsed heavily onto the floor.

Though the magic in his body counteracted the toxin coursing through him, every nerve in his body felt as though it were ablaze. His gaze shifted to Mattie, as he understood the anguish she was in. Her concentration broken, she had reverted to her human form. Her naked body was curled into a ball to protect against the pain that ravaged her. He longed to crawl to her side, knowing his own magic could help relieve her misery.

Instead, a dark shadow fell over him and Gideon straddled his prostrate form, lifting his sword high above his head.

Luthor raised his hand weakly, hoping to summon magic to his defense, but his mind refused to focus on anything other than the pain.

“This ends now,” Gideon said.

His blade started descending, but a figure suddenly appeared by the demon’s side. A saber flashed outward, turning the rapier aside.

Gideon howled and stepped back as he turned to face the Inquisitor.

“Sorry for my tardiness,” Simon apologized. “Have I missed anything important?”

“I’ve been waiting for you, Inquisitor,” the demon hissed as it withdrew its blade.

“I’m sorry to have kept you,” Simon replied.

Gideon swung at Simon, which he easily parried. Luthor knew the pain he must have felt from its impact, but Simon showed no signs of discomfort. Instead, he rolled the saber in his hand, driving Gideon’s rapier wide before going on the offensive. He slashed, parried, and reposted with incredible precision.

“I’ve longed to taste your blood,” Gideon said.

The demon swung his rapier at Simon’s neck, but the Inquisitor quickly blocked the strike.

“You’ll be waiting for some time, hell spawn,” Simon replied. “I was always the far better swordsman.”

Gideon howled angrily and attacked again. After a volley of parried strikes, the two warriors separated. The Inquisitor looked over his shoulder to where Luthor lay, fighting through the poison coursing through his system. From his periphery, he saw Mattie shivering on the floor, her convulsions significantly weaker than they had been minutes before.

“Are you well, Luthor?” he asked.

Luthor nodded as he rolled onto his belly and began dragging himself toward Mattie. “I’ve certainly felt better, sir. Be careful. Gideon is deceptively faster and stronger than he was during your last encounter.”

As Simon turned back toward the demon, Gideon reached out with his free hand and grasped Simon’s wrist. With a powerful jerk, he lifted Simon from his feet. The Inquisitor flew through the air, landing awkwardly on the top of a table. Unlike the heavier demon lord, Simon bounced off its surface rather than smash through. He slid off the other side, tangling with a series of chairs as he fell.

“Duly noted,” Simon replied as he pushed the chairs aside.

He could feel an angry welt forming across his shoulder from his landing, but he miraculously maintained a grip on his sword without accidentally injuring himself during his landing.

Simon looked around the room, taking note of the layout of the furniture, the open spaces around the dance floor, and his fallen associates. He worried most of all for Luthor and Mattie, who were clearly weak and exposed. Should the demon choose to turn his attention back to the pair, there would be little anyone could do to stop him.

He bit his lip as he glanced across the room toward the large, closed double doors that led onto the ballroom’s balcony. It hadn’t been so long ago that he had followed Mattie onto that balcony, though it seemed like a lifetime ago. At the time, he would have never expected a camaraderie to exist between himself—an Inquisitor—and a werewolf, much less their entire pack. The idea was preposterous, yet there he was, risking himself to protect a wounded werewolf.

Gideon stalked the Inquisitor. As he reached the table behind which Simon was kneeling, the demon simply grabbed the wooden top and tossed it aside. It crashed into the wall, splintering and shattering into pieces.

Simon knew he was the better swordsman, but skill would matter little in this encounter. He needed to find a way to exploit Gideon’s burgeoning confidence.

The Inquisitor tried to stand, but his foot slipped on a splintered piece of wood. Rather than cursing, he smiled and turned, grasping the wooden chair beside him. As Gideon strode toward him, he threw it at the demon. It shattered against Gideon, who growled as he staggered backward. Finding a splintered piece of wood beside him, he hurtled it like a spear at the monster. The fractured table leg struck one of Gideon’s curled horns, forcing his head to the side.

With the demon distracted, Simon leapt to his feet and rushed across the room, weaving carefully around the jumble of furniture, leaping nimbly across tables when the way was impassible.

“Coward!” Gideon bellowed. “Get back here.”

The demon tried to follow but found himself blocked by protruding chairs and broken tables. As he maneuvered through the maze of furniture, Simon threw pieces of fallen debris, taunting Gideon as he retreated.

Simon looked over the demon’s shoulder and saw Luthor crawling ever closer to Mattie. The further he could retreat, the greater the distance between the demon and his fallen friends. Moreover, his true goal was growing steadily closer the further he ran.

A pair of chairs had fallen across his path, and he leapt easily over the pair. While he was in midair, however, a broken shard of a table struck him between the shoulder blades. Simon grunted as he pitched forward, landing in a heap amidst the discarded furniture.

The air had been knocked from his lungs and his chest screamed for air. He opened his mouth, but the muscles refused to relax. Simon rolled onto his elbow and looked behind him, for once feeling the panic of the situation settling over him. Gideon smiled at him as he pushed tables aside, though it seemed far more like a violent sneer when set against the jet-black of his skin.

“Two can play your game, Inquisitor,” Gideon mocked. “I hope I haven’t broken anything too vitally important. I’m not nearly done with you yet.”

Simon forced his muscles to relax, holding at bay the threatening panic attack. As the muscles around his lungs finally eased, blissful oxygen flooded his body. Coughing hoarsely, he cringed at the pain that he felt up his spine. He moved his legs slowly, ensuring no lasting pain or, conversely, numbness. When he was satisfied, he pulled his legs underneath him and climbed to his feet.

He stumbled forward, listening closely as Gideon gave chase. The crashing of chairs and tables marked the demon’s progress. Simon’s legs didn’t seem eager to cooperate as he hurried forward, his eyes never leaving the balcony doors. When he reached the dance floor, the clearing for which led all the way to the balcony, he ran as fast as his body would allow, stopping only when he reached the double doors.

“Where is your brashness now?” Gideon chided as he threw another piece of fractured table. Simon leaned to the side and let the debris fly past, shattering one of the panes of glass in the door. “Are you at a loss for words or is it possible you’ve finally learned to respect your betters?”

A frigid wind blew through the ruined window, caressing the Inquisitor’s exposed skin with its icy breath. Simon forced himself upright, despite the discomfort it caused along his injured back.

He smiled at the demon and raised his sword before his face in a salute. “I’m a Royal Inquisitor, you bastard. I have yet to find anyone better.”

Gideon snarled and charged Simon, intent on driving him through the doorway and onto the snow-covered veranda. The demon was a blur, moving nearly quicker than the eye could follow.

As soon as Gideon moved, however, Simon dropped to the ground, rolling forward and out of the demon’s path. Gideon rushed past him, his momentum carrying the demon through the doorway, which exploded under the assault. Splinters of wood and shards of glass sprayed across the balcony. Gideon fell into the snow and slid unceremoniously to the metal banister, which stopped him from toppling the three stories to the ground below.

Infuriated, Gideon slammed his fist into the stone floor before climbing to his feet. He turned toward the Inquisitor with murderous rage reflected in his smoldering eyes.

Simon was already on his feet, his sword lying forgotten on the floor. In his hand, he held his silver revolver, which was pointed at Gideon’s chest.

The demon stared for a brief moment before tilting his head backward and laughing heartily. “A gun? You threaten me with a gun? Clearly the injuries you’ve taken have greatly affected your common sense.”

Gideon grasped the center of his shirt and pulled it apart, dislodging the buttons from both his shirt and vest as he did so. With the buttons removed, he exposed his inky black chest and abdomen invitingly.

“Do it then, Inquisitor. If you think a pistol will save you where your sword and razor wit could not, then shoot me.”

Simon pulled the trigger without a reply. The bullet flew from the barrel, striking Gideon in the stomach. The demon doubled over, his clawed fingers rising to conceal the wound.

For a moment, Simon felt a flood of relief. As quickly as it appeared, however, the feeling dissipated as Gideon rose to his full height once more. The guttural laugh started deep in the demon’s chest and reached a crescendo as he tilted his head backward.

“For a last act of a desperate man,” Gideon chided, “this moment properly sums up the entirety of your existence—ineffective and pointless. You’ll die now with the knowledge that you couldn’t save yourself, you couldn’t save your friends, and you most certainly couldn’t save Haversham.”

Gideon took a threatening step forward but immediately paused. The mocking expression on his face melted to bewilderment as he raised a hand to the gunshot wound. His clawed finger touched the edge of the wound, and he raised his hand to his face. His fingertip was stained with silver.

The demon lowered his hand and looked at Simon confusedly. In response, Simon pulled the trigger twice more, striking Gideon in the chest with both shots. The demon staggered backward as liquefied silver dripped from both of the new wounds as well.

“Impossible,” Gideon said as the first lance of pain tore through his stomach. He looked down as silver tendrils wormed their way beneath his skin, starting from the oldest wound. By the time the veins of silver had snaked their way to his chest, new tendrils were emerging from the two newest gunshots as well.

“This isn’t possible,” Gideon said as he clawed at the tendrils. His sharp claws sliced his skin but did little to impede the spreading sickness. “I won’t be killed by a mere mortal.”

Simon lowered his pistol, placing it in its holster on his hip, and walked toward the broken doorway leading onto the balcony. “There’s nothing ‘mere mortal’ about me.”

Gideon howled in rage and staggered toward Simon. The Inquisitor leapt upward and grasped the frame of the balcony door, kicking outward as he did so. His feet connected with Gideon’s chest, driving the demon backward. Gideon staggered until his back struck the railing. His weight carried him over, flipping end over end as he plummeted the three stories to the estate’s courtyard below.

His screams filled the air briefly before ending abruptly upon impact.

Simon rushed to the railing. Far below, a dark stain against the purity of the white snow, the outline of Gideon Dosett was barely visible, unmoving as falling snow collected on his back.

The muscles across Simon’s back seized as he returned to the ballroom. He paused, leaning heavily on a table for support as he caught his breath. The room itself was in utter disarray. Upturned tables greatly outnumbered those still upright. Broken chairs and shattered table legs mired amidst the wreckage like tangle foot, threatening to trip the Inquisitor as he made his way across the room.

“Luthor?” he called out.

He had left the apothecary on the side of the room nearest the ballroom’s grand entrance, crawling toward the equally injured Mattie, though it was impossible to see either from where he stood.

“Luthor, answer me,” Simon called out again.

An unsteady hand rose over the wreckage. “Here, sir. We’re here.”

Simon rushed as quickly as his body would allow, brushing aside chairs and debris as best he could as he hurried to Luthor’s side. As he rounded a tilted table, he came upon Luthor and Mattie laying side by side, their hands intertwined even in their prone position.

Mattie’s eyes were closed, but her breathing was strong and steady. Her naked flesh was covered by Luthor’s long coat.

Simon cleared his throat and wiped the dirt and sawdust from his eyes. “I was worried about the state in which I’d find you both.”

“As were we,” Luthor said. “It appears that whatever poison with which we were injected was short-lived, dissipating quickly in our blood. My strong constitution and Mattie’s werewolf physiology seem to have overcome the pronounced sickness.”

Simon wanted to eye them both warily, unsure of such a convenient answer, but he thought better and merely sat down heavily beside them both.

Mattie’s eyes fluttered open and she looked up at the Inquisitor. “Is it done, then?”

Simon nodded. “I certainly hope so. He seemed on the verge of death when he tumbled from the balcony. I have every intention of going downstairs and confirming his death myself momentarily, but couldn’t in good conscience depart without ensuring both of your safeties.”

The Inquisitor glanced toward his companion and noticed Luthor’s disapproving glare. He needn’t ask Luthor the problem, since he was most certainly aware of the apothecary’s complaint long before he arrived in the ballroom to face Gideon.

Simon shifted his position so that he was staring directly at his friend. “Luthor, I can’t apologize enough for my delayed arrival. It was clearly a necessary evil, but a position in which I regret having to place you.”

“Where did you go?” Luthor asked.

“Gideon searched our rooms, no doubt trying to find anything that could be used against us in our upcoming battle. In our haste to leave, I had packed abnormally lightly, even for someone like myself who travels with so little. I was unable to take my Inquisitor’s kit, so I hid it as best as possible, with the hopes that Gideon and his minions would be unable to locate it.”

Luthor furrowed his brow. “Your kit? Why your kit? It’s proven completely ineffective throughout our investigation.”

“It was because of something you said. It was you who told me that mythology showed silver as a demon’s weakness.”

“Yes, as it did for werewolves, which clearly proved to be a falsehood,” Luthor said, exasperated.

“Yet, it was clearly not incorrect against demons. It was the silver that overcame his defenses and led to Gideon Dosett’s demise.”

Luthor took as deep a breath as possible, though his body still ached from the residual toxins. “Had the silver proven ineffective, then what would you have done?”

Simon shrugged. “I clearly would have moved on to plan D, or are we now on E?”

Luthor laughed, despite himself. “And plan E consisted of what, exactly?”

Simon shrugged. “The kit was filled with dozens of other useful weapons capable of killing magical abominations regardless of their disposition and affinities.”

Luthor suddenly stopped laughing and arched an eyebrow inquisitively. “Your secondary plan was to merely overcome him with a massive assortment of weaponry?”

“Sometimes brawn truly is more effective than brains,” Simon said as he climbed to his feet. “Will you both be all right as I go recover Gideon’s body?”

Luthor craned his neck so that he could look at the weak and pale Mattie. “I believe we’re past the worst of it. Go, sir, and make sure this is over once and for all.”

Simon nodded to them both before ascending the few stairs to the ballroom’s main entrance. He glanced back once more before exiting and beginning the long walk down the staircases.

Once clear of Luthor and Mattie’s sight, Simon began walking with a much more pronounced limp. His lower back felt as though acid had been poured into both hips and every step sent pain rolling through his shoulders and neck. He knew he needed medical attention as much, if not more so, than his two companions upstairs, but he refused to succumb to his injuries until he saw Gideon’s corpse for himself.

After an eternity of descending stairs, he stepped onto the foyer’s hardwood floor and strode toward the front door. It was only as his hand closed on the door handle that he paused, realizing that if he were incorrect, that if Gideon somehow survived the silver bullets and the three-story fall, then the battle could very well be raging still beyond the doorway. Though he was a warrior at heart, he doubted his body could withstand much more fighting today.

With a deep breath, he pulled the door open. The estate beyond the door was blanketed in silence. There were bodies strewn across the snow-covered courtyard, both humans and werewolves. Red blood was smeared across the roadway directly in front of the mansion. Amidst the bodies, however, werewolves padded softly through the snow. The humans still on their feet milled about confusedly, as though unsure of how they had come to be on the estate in the first place, much less embroiled in a battle with fur-covered monstrosities.

Simon smiled and stepped onto the covered porch. One of the larger werewolves broke from its pack and strode over to the base of the stairs. It looked up at him and shivered as it began its transformation. The fur fell away in droves, crashing to the ground in gelatinous chunks that dissolved on the ground. With a final sturdy shake, the last vestiges of the werewolf disappeared, replaced by a short-haired, naked woman.

“Chieftain Kidnip,” Simon remarked.

He glanced over his shoulder and noted a winter jacket hanging from a peg just inside the estate’s doorway. He retrieved it and offered it to the woman, who quickly covered herself.

“It seems that it’s finally over, Inquisitor,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to where a small group of werewolves huddled around a fallen form.

“It would appear that you know far better than I,” Simon remarked as he walked gingerly down the last couple stairs that led to the road beyond.

Despite the pain, he stood upright as he walked toward the throng of wolves. Sensing his approach, they quickly parted, allowing Simon his first view of the deceased demon. Gideon’s dark skin remained as it had been before his fall, though its surface was marred with hundreds of the silvery tendrils, extending as far as his neck and face. One horn had shattered in his fall and pieces of the curved bone were strewn across the roadway. His eyes remained open, though a droplet of liquid silver pooled in the corners like tears.

“Then it’s finally done,” he remarked.

He turned toward the stupefied humans wandering the ground and pointed at a pair of burly men.

“Come here,” he ordered. As they approached, they paused nervously before the demon’s body. “Find a wagon and collect this body. I’ll give you disposition instructions once that task is complete.”

The two men stared at one another before glancing down, once again, at the vile darkness of the demon at their feet. Neither man seemed keen to move, as though frozen in place now that Gideon’s spell was broken.

“For God’s sake,” Simon chided, “act like men instead of schoolyard children. It’s dead and not likely to rise from its grave. Treat it as a corpse instead of what it once was and go find me my wagon!”

The two men nodded quickly and hurried off. With their departure, Simon could sense other eyes upon him, boring into his back even as he examined the corpse. He turned slowly and found himself facing the chieftain. A number of her werewolves were behind her, having never transformed back into human appearances.

“What of us now, Inquisitor?” Kidnip asked, a tinge of threat staining her words. “We formed an uneasy truce so that we could bring down a much larger threat.”

“Now that the demon is dead, our truce is at an end,” Simon surmised. “Is that what concerns you?”

“You called more of your kind to Haversham. The mention of both werewolves and demons will bring them in droves. What of the werewolves now, Inquisitor?” Every mention of his title was said with slightly more vitriol.

“Now nothing,” Simon replied cryptically. “Now you return to your villages or even roam the streets of Haversham in your human forms for all I care. I ask only one thing of you—allow me to keep the two autopsied werewolves.”

Kidnip bristled at the request. “Those are our kinsmen. Is it not vile enough that you cut them apart for your examination? Now you want to deny them a proper burial amongst their own kind?”

Simon raised his hand to calm her ire. “I understand your hesitation far more than you would believe. Had I known the truth of your kind at the time of my autopsy, I would have never proceeded. However, those droves of Inquisitors that you mentioned will need to be placated. They expect werewolves and demons. I have a corpse of a demon to satisfy their curiosity but if they arrive and there is not a werewolf to be seen, they will march their army across this land, from mountain range to mountain range searching for you and your kind.”

He stepped forward and lowered his voice so that only Kidnip could hear him. “I offer you a choice, albeit a difficult one to make. Say your farewells to your two fallen comrades and let me present their bodies as an appeasement to the Inquisitors, or risk bringing the full wrath of not just the Inquisitors, but the Order of Kinder Pel down on Haversham and all your kind.”

Chieftain Kidnip blanched at the thought of the Pellites, whose reputation for brutality had spread to all corners of the kingdom, no matter how remote. She swallowed hard before replying.

“Let me consult with the rest of the tribe. You’ll have my answer by morning.”

Simon nodded. “I would expect nothing less. Thank you, for everything you’ve done here.”

Kidnip stripped away the winter coat and transformed into a werewolf once more. She turned and howled, the other wolves echoing her call as they ran toward the exit to the estate.

Simon watched them depart before turning his attention back to the deceased demon at his feet. He frowned at Gideon’s body before rearing back and kicking it painfully in the ribs for good measure.