“We have to stop the bleeding,” he said, turning toward Simon.
“Nonsense,” Simon replied. “You need to brew your potion to break Gideon’s spell.”
Luthor placed his hands on his hips. “She’ll bleed to death if I don’t treat her injuries.”
“Nothing personal, but I’m not overly concerned about her physical well-being at the moment. I’m far more concerned with your physical well-being. Bleeding or not, if she comes around while you’re treating her wounds, nothing will stop her from reverting to her previous murderous intent which, in case I need to remind you, was trying to eat your face.”
Luthor frowned but knew the Inquisitor was right.
“Now that you’ve evidently been swayed to my side of the argument,” Simon said, “what can I get you in preparation?”
Luthor opened his mouth to tell his mentor that everything he needed was in his doctor’s bag but quickly realized that he couldn’t possibly create his brew with Simon watching. The mystical components alone would reveal far too much of Luthor’s abilities.
“Scotch,” Luthor blurted.
“Come again?”
“Scotch, or whiskey, or bourbon,” Luthor continued. “Anything with a high alcohol content that can mask the foul taste of the concoction.”
Simon arched an eyebrow. “You need me to go down to the bar and retrieve alcohol?”
“If you please. I’ll leave the specifics of the type to your discerning palette.”
The Inquisitor shrugged. “You are the apothecary and know your craft better than anyone else. Do you require anything else while I’m there? Perhaps some assorted nuts to go with your assortment of booze?”
“A towel would be nice. In fact, anything you can find to help stem the flow of blood would be much appreciated, though I don’t have to tell you such frivolities, since you are the doctor.”
Simon could sense the gentle ribbing and turned toward the door. “I’ll be back momentarily.”
As the door clicked gently closed behind him, Luthor hurried to his bag and began pulling vials from its interior haphazardly. The definitive measurements he had used with Simon’s brew were disregarded completely as he rushed through the chemical amalgamation. The colors swirled madly and for the briefest of moments, he feared the glass in his hand would explode from poorly measured elements, but the liquid eventually settled. As quickly as he would allow himself, he added the plant and watched with both surprise and satisfaction when it ignited in a vibrant blue flame, as he had intended.
From the hallway beyond, Luthor could hear Simon’s booted feet climbing the stairwell once more. Sweating profusely as much from stress as from exertion, he lifted Mattie’s head and gently parted her lips. He poured a small amount of the brew into her mouth, massaging her throat and forcing her to swallow. He repeated the action twice more, ensuring enough of the potion was in her body to counteract the demon’s magic.
As he lowered her head back to the pillow, his hand hovered above the gunshot wound. The bullet had passed cleanly through her shoulder, which meant she would require little in the way of surgery. A blinding white light emerged from beneath his palm, glowing so brilliantly that it was no longer possible to see her wound. Mattie stirred uncomfortably from the intensity of his healing magic but remained asleep.
As the door opened and Simon stepped into the room, Luthor hastily removed his hand and the bright light faded. Where the gunshot wound had moments before been weeping blood in small rivulets, the blood had clotted and the injury was on the mend.
“The bartender was very forthcoming with the alcohol selection,” Simon remarked as he closed the door behind him. “He delivered a remarkable twenty-five-year single malt scotch, which I think might be slightly overzealous for something as simple as a healing draught.”
Luthor stood, his forehead soaked with sweat and his mop of hair matted to his skin. “Then I’m pleased to announce that you and I can share the scotch between us, rather than waste it on something as nonsensical as a patient. I was able to complete the brew while you were downstairs.”
Simon frowned. “That’s fairly remarkable. I guess I should set this aside then until I’m able to provide the proper attention to her wounds.”
“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 w
ell?”
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?”
Wolves of the Northern Rift (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 1) Page 24