The Blood Thief of Whitten Hall (A Magic & Machinery Novel Book 2)
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Authors: Jon Messenger
THIS book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Blood Thief of Whitten Hall
Copyright ©2015 Jon Messenger
All rights reserved.
ISBN
:
978-1-63422-103-0
Cover Design by: Marya Heiman
Typography by: Courtney Nuckels
Editing by: Cynthia Shepp
Simon Whitlock walked through the narrow bedroom to the armoire perched in the corner of the room. He pulled the doors aside, revealing a long row of similarly cut suits and blazers. For a moment, he stood idly by, perusing his options before settling on a tweed blazer. The air was still brisk despite it warming toward spring, and the blazer would ward off the morning chill.
Before buttoning the jacket, he pulled on the chain that disappeared into one of the front vest pockets. A silver pocket watch emerged. It spun lazily on its chain, reflecting the sunlight filtering through the townhouse window. Simon grasped the watch and opened its front, revealing the watch face on the right and a grainy picture of Veronica Dawn on the other. He paused, examining the picture of the dark-haired beauty before frowning as the time caught his eye. He quickly closed the watch and buttoned his jacket. Before closing the armoire, he pulled down a top hat from the high shelf.
The Royal Inquisitor walked briskly toward the townhouse’s front door, pausing at its berth and running a hand through his coifed hair. A copious amount of grease held his mane in place. Finally, he ran his fingers across his thin moustache, ensuring he looked presentable before opening the front door.
Simon stepped onto the small landing at the top of the half-dozen stairs leading to the street below. He placed his top hat on his head, canting it slightly and allowing its brim to block the glare of the morning sun.
He waved his hand before his face as he descended the steps in an attempt to brush aside the palpable air of smoke. As he reached the street, an automobile rumbled slowly past, its exhaust belching a cloud of black smoke. Frowning, Simon paused momentarily, knowing his pace was only slightly slower than that of the automobile. He had no desire to follow too closely.
“Good morning, Inquisitor,” a gentleman said politely as he walked past, tipping his hat in reverence to Simon.
“Morning,” Simon replied, his spirits suddenly lifted. It was good to be recognized.
Simon turned with a renewed enthusiasm and glanced down the long row of similarly fronted townhouses. The endless row of red brick edifices was broken only by perfectly measured sets of identical stairwells leading to identical doorways. Only the bronzed numbers nailed over each doorway marked them as unique homes.
Beyond the townhouses, the angle of the street rose sharply as it built toward the hilltop that dominated the capital city of Callifax. Perched atop it, in plain view from anywhere within the city, was a sprawling castle. Its walls and towering parapets matched the majesty of the giant, red and gold banners flickering in the morning breeze.
Simon’s eyes left the splendor of the castle only after he had walked a dozen feet. He paused before the stairwell to a neighboring townhouse before climbing the stairs. The Inquisitor paused only momentarily at the doorway, rapping politely with his knuckles before casually opening the door without awaiting a reply.
The interior of the home was well illuminated, with electric lights burning in a chandelier overhead.
“Luthor?” Simon said as he closed the door behind him.
“You’re late,” came the reply from the sitting room to his right.
Simon peered around the corner and found his dear friend and companion hidden beneath the morning’s newspaper. Luthor Strong was sitting at a small, rounded table, the center of which was covered with a silver tray and a pot of steeping tea. The aroma was magnificent, and Simon quickly took his seat across from the apothecary.
Luthor didn’t bother looking up as Simon sat across from him at the narrow table. The Inquisitor set his hat on the windowsill to his right as he placed a napkin in his lap.
“Good morning, Simon. I see my assassins have failed to kill you once more.”
“Come off it, Luthor. You can’t still be mad about that Haversham business. That was weeks ago.”
Luthor folded the paper and dropped it unceremoniously onto the table. The diminutive man stared at his mentor with evident irritation, the muttonchops covering each cheek rising and falling as he ground his teeth in frustration.
“You abandoned me to my own devices with a demon. Yes, I’m still mad about Haversham.”
“I came back,” Simon retorted.
A creak of the wooden staircase interrupted the start of a familiar debate. Both men turned as Mattie walked down the staircase, still dressed in her pajamas with a bathrobe cinched across her waist. Her red hair was still damp from her bath and hung in ringlets over her shoulders.
“Morning, you two,” she said as she walked into the sitting room. “Still arguing about Haversham, are you?”
“He used me as bait,” Luthor complained. “Even you have to admit that’s absurd behavior for a Royal Inquisitor.”
“I have to admit no such thing,” Mattie said matter-of-factly as she leaned forward and kissed Simon on the cheek. “Morning, Simon.”
“Morning, Matilda. A pleasure as always.”
She walked around the table and leaned forward, kissing Luthor passionately on the lips. The apothecary flushed scarlet and gently pulled away from the redhead.
“Mattie, that’s not really appropriate etiquette in front of a guest.”
She grasped his chin, turning his face toward her. “Then you’re lucky I’m not a right and proper lady. Need I remind you that I’m an uncouth and uncivilized tundra werewolf? Nothing in that says I can’t kiss the man courting me in front of an Inquisitor who, by the way, has seen far more disturbing things than two people being affectionate toward one another.”
Luthor sighed as he leaned back into his chair. “It’s not the public display of affection that concerns me, love. It’s that Simon currently has a series of belittling thoughts flittering about in his mind.”
Simon smirked softly, and Luthor gestured toward the Inquisitor. “Now it appears he’s settled upon one. Go ahead, Simon, let me hear it.”
“I was just wondering if she worries about you straying from her affections or if her canine instincts have taken hold and she merely marked her territory.”
Luthor frowned and shook his head. “See, this is precisely what I mean.”
He turned sharply as Mattie stifled a laugh. “Actually, I thought it was rather clever.”
“Don’t encourage him!”
Mattie smiled and turned toward the kitchen. “Need anything from the kitchen while I’m up?” she asked.
“I don’t believe so. Do you need me to fix you something to eat?”
Mattie shook her head as she walked toward the doorway. “No, but thank you. I know my way around a kitchen.”
The two men waited until she left the room before turning their attention back to one another.
“You two have become quite cozy since our return,” Simon remarked. “You surprise me, Luthor. I didn’t think you would be scandalous enough to have a woman living with you.”
The apothecary retrieved his newspaper and returned to his reading. “We have our separate bedrooms, if that’s what concerns you. Of course, you’re an Inquisitor who cavorts with werewolves, so I think you’re hardly one to judge.”
Without looking up, Luthor pointed toward the kettle in the middle of the table. “Tea?”
“Please,” Simon replied as he turned over his cup and extended it. Luthor picked up the kettle and poured a perfectly steeped cup.
“Sugar?”
“Two lumps, if you please.”
Simon raised his cup to his lips and sipped noisily. He closed his eyes and sighed blissfully. “I’m thrilled that even when you abhor me, you still don’t lose your good manners.”
Luthor set the kettle back down on the tray and returned to his paper. “My hatred for you and my civility are mutually exclusive.”
The two men enjoyed their tea in silence while Mattie busied herself in the kitchen. Only the clinking of dishware being set upon a tray broke the quiet. The redhead returned shortly with toast and a bowl of porridge. A slab of butter melted merrily in the depths of the bowl as she sat in the third seat around the table.
“What brings you to our breakfast table this morning, Simon?” Mattie asked as she spread marmalade onto her toast.
Simon arched an eyebrow as he set his teacup gently onto its saucer. “I’m here every morning.”
“I simply meant—”
“He knows what you meant,” Luthor interrupted. “He’s acting coy merely because today is of such importance.”
Mattie smiled broadly. “Today’s your recognition ceremony with the Inquisitors, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Simon replied, his smile equally as broad. “Apparently, they felt my work slaying a demon and two…”
The words froze on his lips, his mouth still pursed from the last word he spoke. The smile faded quickly from Mattie’s face, replaced by a saddened expression.
“Forgive me, Mattie,” Simon said, recovering as quickly as his embarrassed mind would allow. “I meant absolutely no disrespect.”
Mattie shook her head and forced a smile. “No, it’s I who should apologize. I agreed to let you bring the two werewolf remains to Callifax. It was the only way to convince the other Inquisitors that this particular magical threat had been eliminated. If you hadn’t, the rest of my pack couldn’t live in peace. Therefore, you owe me no apology. I shouldn’t have dampened the mood.”
Luthor coughed, breaking the palpable tension. “Will you see Ms. Dawn tonight as well?”
Simon nodded as he broke his gaze from the morose redhead. “Yes, I believe I shall, though there’s no telling how late the Inquisitors’ celebration may go.”
“Will you… see her at work, perhaps?” the apothecary remarked, his disapproval evident.
Simon merely laughed at Luthor’s discomfort. “More likely than not, since the hour will be late before I have time to visit with her.”
Before Luthor could respond, Simon fetched his pocket watch. He leapt hastily to his feet before bowing apologetically to his hosts. “Speaking of the time, I will most certainly be late to my own sordid affair if I don’t leave at once.”
He bent over and took a final sip of his tea, sighing with satisfaction as he replaced the teacup. Simon leaned over and placed a kiss on Mattie’s cheek.
“Do take care of Luthor today, Ms. Hawke. I would hate to see him cooped up once more in this dreadful townhouse.”
“I’ll do what I can,” she replied.
Simon nodded toward his friend. “Luthor.”
Luthor buried his face in the newspaper, though he read hardly a word from the page.
“I see you’ve returned to being a malcontent,” Simon remarked.
Mattie sighed. “Luthor, please at least feign happiness for Simon’s exciting day.”
Luthor lowered the newspaper with a sickly smile on his face. “I hope you’re painfully run over by an autobus on the way to the Grand Hall.”
Simon laughed heartily and retrieved his top hat. “I could ask for no better sendoff. Shall we do this again tomorrow?”
“Of course,” Luthor replied. “Do be a bit more punctual next time.”
Simon nodded as he hurried toward the front door.
