The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2) (38 page)

Luthor and Mattie climbed down from the train and joined Simon on the platform.

“Can we interest you in dinner, sir?” Luthor asked.

“Yes, Simon,” Mattie agreed. “Do come with us.”

Simon glanced back and forth between his friends but shook his head. “Forgive me, but there’s something else I need to do instead.”

He stepped away from his companions, leaving them bewildered as he left the station.

There was a gentle knock on Veronica’s door. She glanced at the clock on the mantle, noting the late hour. The sun had set some time before and, having the night off, she had already changed into her nightgown.

She looked about until she located a robe draped over one of the chairs nearby. As she slipped it over her shoulders and tied it in the front, the knock came again.

“I’m coming,” Veronica said, just loudly enough to be heard by whoever waited on the far side of the door.

She started walking toward the door before she paused. It wouldn’t do at all to open the door to a stranger, especially at this late hour. Who knew the type of person who could be waiting? Her line of work seemed to invite the lowest common denominator of mankind. Glancing toward the mantle, she noted an empty glass vase. She took it in her hands, feeling its considerable weight. Satisfied that she was thusly armed, she walked to the door.

Leaning forward, she peered through the narrow peephole. At first, the man on the other side looked like a stranger. He was haggard in appearance, despite being well dressed. As he turned toward her, she immediately recognized him, despite the obvious injuries.

Throwing the locks aside, she opened the door and threw herself into Simon’s arms. Before he could speak, she kissed him passionately, wrapping her arms around his neck and sliding her fingers into his hair. She eventually pulled away, breathless.

Simon smiled broadly, but he winced at the effort. His cheek ached from the effort of smiling, and he was forced to return his expression to a more serious demeanor.

Veronica’s expression softened considerably as she reached up and gingerly touched the sutures under his eye. “My God, Simon, are you okay?”

Simon caught her wrist before she pressed too firmly. He looked at her lovingly, glad to be with her once more.

She smiled but looked worried simultaneously. “Is anything the matter?”

“Of course,” he said, trying to set her mind at ease. “I just made it back and could think of no other place I’d rather go.”

She smiled and reached up, caressing his uninjured cheek. “You’re always welcome. You can stay as long as you’d like.”

“I’d like to stay the night, if it’s all the same.”

Veronica smiled broadly and stepped aside, allowing Simon to enter her apartment.

Luthor approached the bookcase in his study and ran his fingers along the spines of the leather-bound novels. He paused as he reached an innocuous book, one that looked unremarkable amongst the multitude of other similarly bound books. Placing his finger atop the tome, he pulled it toward him. The book tilted, and Luthor heard the telltale clicking of gears behind the wall. The clicking continued until it stopped with a sudden rattle of chains, as though a heavy weight had been released behind the bookcase.

With a bit of effort, Luthor placed his hands against the edge of the wooden shelves and pulled them toward him. The entire bookcase swung aside on well-oiled hinges, revealing a spiral staircase leading into the basement.

As Luthor stepped into the stairwell, torches lit of their own volition along the stairs, illuminating the path before him. Tucking the small, black journal under his arm, Luthor descended the stairwell.

The stairs ended abruptly at a door with no handle. No windows marred the front of the perfectly crafted wooden portal and the edges of the door fit snuggly against its frame, allowing no light to seep around it. Luthor reached out and felt the cool wood, lacquered so heavily that it nearly reflected his image. Near the top of the door, he drew a circle. He made similar circles on the left and right before bisecting all three with lines that met in the center. As the lines connected, they glowed a soft blue. On the far side of the door, tumblers fell into place and locks slid aside. With a hiss of escaping air, the door opened.

Luthor’s second study, for that was what this room was, looked nothing like the book-laden room upstairs. Flasks and beakers lined tables against the walls, though their concoctions were anything but science. Within one, black fluid swirled of its own volition as twinkling lights like stars drifted through its miasma.

The walls held artifacts that he had collected from his journeys, both with Simon and alone. Maps of the three continents were pinned to the wall with red wax pencil markings across their surfaces. Arcane runes were drawn above the marked locations, though only Luthor could read his annotations.

In the center of the room was a large design similar to the one used to unlock the door. Each circle was large enough for a man to stand within, but Luthor stepped instead to where the lines intersected one another.

Pulling a piece of chalk from his pocket, he knelt down and drew a pentagram around his feet, so that he stood in the center of its inverted five-pointed star. As he stood, a gentle breeze blew through the room, fluttering maps affixed to the wall.

Luthor closed his eyes as he slipped a hand into his pocket, feeling the thin journal concealed within. He could feel his body shift slightly, as though the ground beneath him was made of sliding sand. As his body settled back into place, he opened his eyes.

He no longer saw the mystical study in which he’d been standing. He was now in a garden. The leaves rustled overhead as the same gentle breeze blew through the trees. A stream gurgled nearby, and the scent of freshly cut grass reached his nose. The garden was peaceful, though Luthor still felt very much on edge.

Six people sat amongst the trees, in varying stages of relaxation. A man in polished armor paced anxiously through the grove. A man and woman in similar silk robes sat cross-legged in the grass. A dark-skinned woman sat on a bench by the stream, her back to the apothecary. The last two men wore such heavy robes that their faces were concealed in deep shadows.

As they recognized Luthor’s presence amongst them, the six turned toward the apothecary.

“Agent Strong,” the dark-skinned woman said. “We have been waiting for you. How goes your mission?”

“Brothers and Sisters of the Cabal, I have much to report,” Luthor replied. He pulled the ancient vampire’s journal from his pocket, holding it aloft so that the bloody palm print on its cover was visible.

“The symbol of the Five,” the armored man said, frowning, though Luthor knew a deep frown was his general disposition. “One finger for each of the demon lords. Where did you find that?”

“On one of their servants here in the northern continent, an archaic vampire who had been trapped in our realm for hundreds of years.”

“Impossible,” the silk-covered man said. “The Five have not had access to our lands—”

“—but until recently,” the silk-covered woman finished.

“Yet this book is most certainly one of theirs, and it was trapped with this vampire deep under the ground. This is proof that there were servants of the Five in our lands in advance of their arrival, very possibly paving the way for their conquest.”

“Conjecture,” a dark robed man replied.

“Assumption without fact,” the other said.

“It’s neither conjecture nor assumption and this… this is the proof.” Luthor opened the book, revealing arcane markings across the pages. “These are incantations and summoning rituals, the types that would be necessary to open a gateway between our worlds. This vampire is the proof that incursions into our world have happened before. Quite likely, there are dozens more monsters just like him scattered throughout our kingdoms.”

“What are you insinuating, Agent Strong?” the dark-skinned woman asked.

Luthor sighed as he forced himself to calm down. “I believe these rituals could be used to open a rift.”

Before the Cabal could respond, and they looked quite ready to respond angrily to his allegations, Luthor interjected. “Nothing to the degree of
the
Rift, but minor breaks in the barriers that divide our realms, a test of sorts that would pave the way for the invasion by the Five. With all your combined wisdom and intellect, you have to see this as a viable possibility. Even with our combined magic, we’ve never been able to satisfactorily explain how the Rift was formed. This could very possibly be our answer.”

“Similar magic?” a dark-robed man asked.

“Could be tracked?”

Luthor shrugged. “I can’t be certain. I couldn’t discern any residual magic on the creature, but it could have very well dissipated during the vampire’s imprisonment. If the vampire was sent here as a vanguard to the demons’ forces, then others could be here as well, monsters with a more potent magical signature.”

“It’s an interesting dilemma. If their magic is similar to that of the Rift, then we might be able to scry their locations. I would assume the beasts would be shielded—”

“—but our magic is strong. We will see what we can do,” the second silken twin concluded.

“How do you suppose the vampire became trapped deep beneath the earth?” the dark-skinned magician asked.

“He’s been here for ages,” Luthor said. “It’s possible his spell casting went awry, sending him far from his predetermined location. The teleportation magic could have created the pocket in the rock in which he was found, but it wouldn’t have provided him a means to escape.”

The Cabal nodded but said nothing.

“Thank you all,” Luthor said. “Is there any other word on the other four demon lords?”

“None, though we will continue to search,” the dark-skinned mage replied. “We would ask that you continue your search as well, under the guise of assisting the Inquisitor.”

“Of course.”

The armored man stomped across the grass, his metal boots crushing the delicate garden grounds. “Speaking of the Inquisitor, does he suspect your true identity?”

Luthor shook his head. “He’s had no reason to assume I’m anything other than an apothecary.”

The armored man huffed. “If he determines the truth, you know what’ll have to be done. He won’t allow you to live.”

Luthor frowned at the insinuation. “I think Inquisitor Whitlock might surprise you. We knowingly travel in the company of a werewolf already. He might be accepting—”

“A werewolf is a far cry different from a wizard,” the armored sorcerer interrupted. “If he discovers the truth, he will burn you at the stake. You must be ready to do what needs to be done.”

Luthor stared defiantly at the Brother, though the armored man seemed unfazed by Luthor’s resistance.

“We will search for these other incursions and let you know what we discover,” the dark-skinned woman said, interjecting between the two men. “You’ve served us well, Agent Strong.”

The apothecary turned his attention back to the leader of the Cabal. “I live to serve the Cabal.”

“Go in peace,” she said as the illusion began to fade.

Stone walls replaced the trees in the distance. The stream dissipated into flagstones on the floor. The bench near the stream revealed itself as one of his worktables. The six members of the Cabal faded into the ether, leaving Luthor alone once more.

He frowned as he crossed the room. He set the book on the table beside the broken piece of Gideon Dosett’s horn. His hand lingered on the book, its bloody palm staring upward, before he turned and walked away. As he left the room, the electric lanterns turned dark and the handle-less door swung closed behind him.

END OF BOOK 2