Before Simon could reply, the dressing room door opened. The dark-haired beauty from the stage stood in the doorway. Her lithe frame was graced with a silk robe that hung only to her knees. The thin fabric clung to her curves as she leaned against the doorframe.
“It’s perfectly all right, Marcus,” Veronica said, placing her hand on the bouncer’s shoulder. “Simon is an old friend.”
The bouncer glanced at Simon before begrudgingly stepping aside. Simon nodded politely, swallowing his desire to smile smugly as he passed the brutish man.
The Inquisitor stepped through the doorway as Veronica retreated inside. He gently pushed the door closed on the small dressing room, allowing them a small iota of privacy.
The room was busy, with an assortment of barely concealing outfits hung on hooks along the wall. A small bench seat was pressed against one wall while a well-lit vanity sat against the other. The large mirror, framed in naked light bulbs, offered the faintest illusion that the room was in fact larger than it really was, but the illusion was fleeting. With Veronica standing in the center of the room, there was barely room for Simon to maneuver without pressing against her body, which he believed was entirely the point.
Veronica threw her arms around Simon’s neck and drew him into a kiss. He could feel her smooth lips pressing against his as he slipped his hands around her waist.
They stood pressed together for an eternity before Veronica drew slowly away. She smiled and withdrew an arm from around his neck. With her free hand, she wiped away a smear of lipstick that had spread across Simon’s lips during their embrace.
“I’ve missed you,” she said. “Callifax is boring without you around.”
Simon smiled. “Nothing about you is boring, my love.”
Veronica smiled coyly. “Perhaps, but it’s far more entertaining with you around. Anyway, boring is relative. You might think that what I do is exciting, but while I’m working, you’re hunting werewolves and demons. It hardly seems fair.”
Simon arched an eyebrow. “Would you prefer to be hunting magical monsters in the countryside?”
“Of course not.” She laughed. “Can you imagine me carrying a gun and hunting beasts? I get squeamish merely seeing still-feathered chickens hanging by their necks in the marketplace. Cherish the thought of me on a hunting expedition.”
“Oh, I most certainly do cherish that thought,” Simon joked.
Veronica pulled her other arm from around Simon’s neck and leaned back against the vanity’s sole chair. The thin robe parted faintly in the front, leaving little to Simon’s imagination.
“I do hunt, though the beast is much more cunning,” she cooed. She reached forward with her hand and grasped Simon’s belt. Her nimble fingers worked at its clasp.
Simon gently moved her hand aside. “Not here, darling. I do so hate mixing work and pleasure.”
Veronica sighed and pulled her robe closed. “My prey is also clearly much more elusive.”
Simon laughed as he stepped closer, wrapping his hands around her waist and kissing her on the neck. “I’m hardly playing hard to get. I’m merely waiting for more comfortable surroundings.”
She placed her hands on his chest and joined his laugher. “What would the other Inquisitors think if they could see you now? The debonair man seducing a burlesque dancer hardly seems like proper Inquisitor behavior.”
“You sound very much like Luthor, you know?” he asked, frowning. “There’s a misconception that Inquisitors are upstanding citizens and above reproach merely because of the work we do. That simply isn’t so. We’re all fallible; we all have our vices, some more than others.”
“Am I your vice, then?”
“One of many, my dear,” Simon replied, “but certainly the most enjoyable.”
“Speaking of Mr. Strong, did I read in your last letter that he has brought home a woman from your last assignment?”
Simon considered just how he would categorize Mattie and whether or not it was as simple as “bringing home a woman” considering all her other extenuating circumstances.
Eventually, he simply nodded. “He did; a lovely woman from Haversham.”
“Excellent. It would be nice to visit you and Luthor while actually enjoying a woman’s company. Perhaps we should invite them to join us for the movies. There’s supposedly a fascinating film showing at the Majestic tomorrow night.”
Simon smiled, knowing he could hardly deny Veronica once she had a thought firmly affixed in her mind.
“I make no promises, but I’ll ask. Do be aware that Matilda is not quite… well, her upbringing lacks a level of civility we’re used to seeing in the capital.”
“Uncouth?” she chided. “Clearly, you have no idea what it’s like to be in your company.”
“You’re hilarious,” Simon replied flatly. “How much longer before you’re finished for the evening?”
Veronica glanced at the clock hung above the changing room’s doorway. “I have one more show in ten minutes and then I’ll be finished. Will you stay and watch?”
“You couldn’t pay me enough to miss your show.”
Veronica smiled. “Fantastic. Now get out. I have to change and reapply makeup before I go on stage.”
Simon arched an eyebrow. “I have to leave because you don’t want to appear indecent in front of me, even after trying to ravage me moments ago?”
Veronica laughed and placed a hand on his chest while opening the door with the other. “Just get out.”
She shoved him playfully on the chest, and he stumbled back into the hall. Veronica winked at him as she closed the changing room door.
Simon turned around with a broad smile cast upon his face. Directly behind him, the bouncer stood with his arms crossed over his massive chest. Gloria still sat at the vanity, shaking her head in mock indignation.
The Inquisitor cleared his throat politely as he quickly walked past both their disapproving stares and made his way back into the Ace of Spades’ main hall.
Simon removed his jacket and draped it over Veronica’s shoulders as they walked. The night’s air had turned colder. Between the humidity and gentle breeze blowing off the bay, the cold seemed to permeate their very clothing, chilling them both to their core.
Having recently returned from the frozen tundra, Simon shrugged off the cold as a mere irritant. He doubted he would have a true need for his jacket as anything more than a fashion piece until, perhaps, the next winter. Veronica, however, clearly lacked his natural warmth as she shivered during their brief walk to her home.
“You performed amazingly well tonight,” he said as they walked between the pools of lamplight.
Veronica leaned into him, and he wrapped his arm over her shoulders. Her short dress fluttered in the breeze, and her stocking-covered legs were hardly protected against the chill.
“I’m glad you were able to watch me dance,” she replied. “When I know you’re in the audience, it feels like I’m dancing just for you.”
“Me, the noble near the front, the oddly obsessive little man in the corner, and the dozens of other men and women filling every available seat.”
Veronica poked him playfully in the ribs. “Only an Inquisitor peruses every face in the audience. Everyone else is there for their personal entertainment.”
“It’s both my blessing and my curse,” he replied.
They stopped before a nondescript brick building. A doorman stood by the front door, illuminated by the light that spilled from the building’s interior. He tipped his hat to Simon and Veronica as the couple turned and approached the apartment building’s entryway.
“Good evening, Ms. Dawn,” the doorman said. He tipped his hat toward Simon as well. “Inquisitor Whitlock.”
Veronica pulled Simon’s pocket watch from his vest and pressed the button at the top, swinging its silver covering open. She smiled momentarily at the sight of her own face staring up at her from the watch’s left side. Her gaze drifted to the watch face as she looked at the time.
/> “It’s hardly evening any longer, Mr. Jackson,” Veronica replied. “I do believe it’s already slipped into morning.”
The doorman motioned toward the nearly moonless night above. “With this darkness, madam, it hardly seems right to call it morning.”
Mr. Jackson pulled the doorway open, holding it as Simon and Veronica entered the lobby. Once they were firmly inside, the doorman stepped through himself, closing the door behind him.
He motioned toward the collapsible metal gate blocking a doorway near the front desk. “Will you be requiring the elevator this evening?”
Veronica looked up at Simon before shaking her head. “Thank you, but no. I believe we’ll take the stairs.”
“Very good, madam.” The doorman tipped his hat once more before opening the front door again. “I wish you both a wonderful rest of your evening.”
“Thank you, Mr. Jackson,” she replied.
As the doorman retreated back into the dark cold of the night, Simon led Veronica to the stairwell. They climbed the broad stairs to the third floor before stopping on the landing. The long hallway led away from the landing in both directions. Without pause, Simon and Veronica walked along the plush carpet toward her apartment.
Stopping at the door, she opened her clutch, retrieving her keys from within. She slid her door key into the lock and turned it, but met no resistance. With a quick twist, she withdrew her key and dropped it back into her purse.
“Gloria must already be home,” Veronica replied.
They opened the door and entered the small, two-bedroom apartment. The living room they entered was dominated by a leather couch, on which the blonde dancer sat enjoying an evening cup of tea. Her blonde curls were pulled back, held in place by a series of clips. She had foregone her revealing clothing for a long sleeping gown. She seemed very domesticated compared to the woman Simon had seen earlier in the night.
“I wasn’t certain you would be home tonight,” Gloria remarked as she blew on the top of her steaming cup of tea.
Veronica glanced up at Simon and smiled. “We took our time on the way home.”
“Tea?” the blonde offered.
Veronica shook her head. “No, but thank you. I believe we’ll be going to bed shortly.”
“To bed, certainly,” Gloria chided, “but not to sleep.”
Simon blushed and was glad when Veronica led him toward one of the apartment’s bedrooms.
“Goodnight, you two,” Gloria called after them.
Veronica led him into the bedroom and quickly pushed the door closed. In a fluid motion, she brushed off both her and Simon’s jackets, letting them fall forgotten to the floor. She glanced up at the Inquisitor and he reached forward, brushing a wayward strand of dark hair from her face. Sliding his hand around the nape of her neck, he pulled her to him.
Simon pushed the covers aside and swung his legs out of bed. He flinched as his bare feet struck the cold, wooden floor. After a moment of acclimation, he stood, naked in the chilled night air.
He walked to the window, pausing before the radiator heater and letting the warmth soak into his cold skin. After a satisfying moment of warmth, he leaned forward and retrieved his underwear and pants from the floor where they had been haphazardly tossed upon their arrival.
“Are you leaving so soon?” Veronica asked from her place in the bed, evidently disappointed that he had left her side.
Simon turned toward her. Her dark hair was splayed across her pillow. Her face was still flushed from exertion. Though the down comforter covered her body, he could imagine every curve of her naked skin beneath.
“Sadly, I must,” Simon replied as he retrieved his undershirt and dress shirt from the floor as well. “I must get home and get at least some rest before I face the Inquisitors again tomorrow.”
“You could rest here,” she offered. “You don’t always have to leave me so soon afterward.”
Simon smiled wistfully. “We’ve spoken of this before. It won’t do for an Inquisitor to be seen sullying the good name of an unmarried woman. It’s indecent.”
Veronica frowned. “You regularly visit a burlesque house and admitted to me that all Inquisitors suffer such vices. Why not just stay?”
Simon slipped his undershirt over his head. As he tucked it into his trousers, he walked to her bedside. “It’s not the fact that we suffer from vices. Everyone knows that we’re only human; it’s that very quality that makes us so effective as Inquisitors. Yet the normal man has an expectation of a perception of decency as it pertains to their Inquisitors. They may know that we have our vices, they just don’t want to see us appearing so, well, human.”
“Everything about that sounds preposterous.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed and ran his fingertips across her cheek. “I agree, darling, but I’m a servant to public perception.”
She slipped away from his touch and rolled away, turning her back to him. “It makes me feel cheap, that you can’t even stay the night, as though I were nothing more than your whore.”
Simon paused, genuinely hurt at the insinuation. He leaned forward until his arms were draped over her covered waist. “You’re a far better woman than any woman of court.” He sighed as she refused to turn and meet his gaze. “I can stay, if you’d like.”
She shook her head without turning around. “No, I think you should go.”
Simon felt the jab of disappointment at her casual dismissal. “Will I see you tonight? I’ll ask Luthor and Mattie if they would join us for a movie.”
She turned quickly toward him with tears still shining in her eyes. “I’d like that. Perhaps another woman’s opinion could talk some sense into you.”
Simon thought about Mattie’s brash outspokenness and smiled. “You have no idea how thrilled I am at the prospect of the two of you conspiring together.”
“Do you think they would come to church with us this weekend?” she asked.
Simon frowned. His own predilection was to avoid the church services as well. It wasn’t that he wasn’t spiritual, but Simon had a hard time accepting faith in a spiritual being that performed obvious feats of magic in a time when his sole purpose was to eliminate the physical manifestations of that very same mystical energy. Furthermore, he doubted his mastery of debate would serve him well enough to convince Luthor, who had never truly spoken of religion one way or another, and Matilda, a savage werewolf raised without the convenience of the Callifax Abbey, to accompany them to church.
“I will ask,” Simon said finally. “It’s the best I can promise.”
Veronica slipped an arm free of the blanket, revealing more of her body in the process than Simon was sure she intended. She reached up and touched his cheek. “I’ll see you tonight for the movie. We can discuss it with them then, perhaps. I love you, Simon.”
Simon leaned forward and kissed her sweetly upon the lips. “I love you as well. Until tonight.”
Simon finished dressing and walked into the empty living room. The door to Gloria’s room was closed, so he let himself out, locking the door behind him as he went.
He strode down the stairs, reaching the lobby in all haste. The doorman noted his approach from the other side of the glass door and pulled it open before he reached the entryway.
“Are you leaving us so soon?” the doorman asked.
Simon frowned and glowered at the well-meaning man. “Don’t you start with me, too.”
The doorman merely smiled innocently. “Have a good evening, Inquisitor.”
“You, too,” Simon replied as he walked into the dark night.
The Grand Inquisitor sat at his desk. The Grand Hall was silent except for the muted footsteps of the few guards still pacing the complex. The Inquisitors were all asleep in their own beds or, as Simon had so recently been, enjoying the experiences of the capital’s nightlife.
Though much of the Inquisitors’ business was conducted during the day, the Grand Inquisitor found that the late hours of the night were the only time he could fin
d peace and solitude. A stack of mission requests were stacked high on the edge of his desk awaiting his approval, matched by an equally large pile of folders of completed missions that still required his reading. Though the Inquisitors hired analysts to search for trends amongst the founded magical outbreaks, the Grand Inquisitor still insisted upon his personal review of every mission.
A single oil lamp sat upon the man’s desk, illuminating the room with its flickering light. The Grand Inquisitor shifted in his chair and examined the wall beside him, where a series of grainy, black-and-white photographs had been framed and mounted upon the wall. The pictures were mostly faded from age, their once white paper yellowing and curling along the corners. Still, a much more youthful Grand Inquisitor stared back from many of the pictures. Though it had been only ten years since the founding of the Inquisitors, he felt greatly aged over the course of the past decade.
With a sigh, he shifted his gaze back to the two dominating piles of folders competing for his attention. He reached toward the finished reports but his hand hovered. Slowly, his hand drifted instead toward the cases still requiring an Inquisitor’s assignment.
Pulling the topmost folder from the pile, he opened it before him. He quickly scanned the synopsis provided by the analyst who initially received the report. The file spoke of witchcraft in the marshlands to the north of the capital. No substantial evidence had been provided by the local council and, in the analyst’s opinion, it was questionable whether anything substantial would be uncovered by an Inquisitor’s intervention.
For a brief moment, the Grand Inquisitor considered rejecting the mission but at the last moment, he retrieved his pen and scribbled a name along the bottom of the report. An Inquisitor had now been assigned, for good or bad. He closed the folder and placed it onto a newly formed pile before sighing, realizing he was now finished with only one of dozens of reports awaiting his personal attention.
The Grand Inquisitor reached for the next folder on the stack but instead shifted his attention back to the completed mission reports. He retrieved the top folder and opened it, quickly reviewing the handwritten calligraphy of the Inquisitor who had been assigned. Like so many others, the report had been unfounded, with the reports of ghosts in the dense woodlands being nothing more than wind chimes and whistles hung from high branches by bandits in an attempt to protect their hideout and subsequent treasure. The Inquisitor had summarily decimated the bandit camp and retrieved much of the stolen coin, so the mission hadn’t been a complete failure, though the local constabulary could have easily handled the case without Inquisitor intervention.
The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) Page 5