Luthor opened his eyes to an inky blackness. Panicked, he looked to the side only to realize something was pressing against his face. He reached up tentatively and his hand closed on fur. Grasping the fur, he pulled the blanket away.
Sunlight streamed through a small hole above him, though wooden poles jutting from the narrow hole above bisected the light. The air around him was warm and smelled of a combination of wood smoke and lye.
Disoriented, he sat up in the pile of furs that made his bed. A fire crackled merrily in the center of the animal hide-covered tent. Though the beam of light from above and the small campfire provided illumination, the dome-like tent was mostly shadowed.
A soft moan beside him alerted Luthor that he wasn’t alone. He glanced over quickly and found Simon buried similarly in furs, though the Inquisitor was sleeping soundly. Luthor leaned over until his ear hovered an inch above Simon’s face. Slowly, gently, he felt the man exhale. The rush of air against the side of his face made Luthor far happier than he believed possible.
“Sir?” Luthor asked, gently shaking the Inquisitor’s shoulder.
Though Simon responded with a faint groan of displeasure, he didn’t awaken. He pulled away the blanket and found Simon dressed in an odd assortment of furs and hides that covered most of his exposed skin. Looking down, he noticed that he was similarly dressed.
Simon groaned again, and his brow furrowed in discomfort. Luthor returned Simon’s blanket, tucking it in affectionately around the man’s chin. Simon immediately relaxed and fell back into his deep slumber.
Luthor stood and looked around the room. His eyes had adjusted quite a bit since awakening, and he could now clearly see the thin outline of a hide doorway on the opposite side of the fire. Standing stoically by the door was a tribesman, dressed in similar furs but carrying a short, wickedly pointed spear.
“Excuse me,” Luthor said as he walked around the campfire. The smell of smoke and lye grew stronger the closer he got to the edge of the tent. “Do you understand me?”
As he grew closer, the guard raised his spear, pointing it at Luthor’s chest. He said nothing, but his eyes narrowed dangerously.
“I see that you clearly do understand me, even if you don’t speak the language. Where are we?”
The guard said nothing.
“I refuse to be one of those incessant fools who speaks slower or louder merely in an attempt to get you to understand me better. Was it you that treated my friend? He was suffering from hypothermia and what I have to assume was acute onset of frostbite. Is he better now?”
The guard remained silent, the tip of his spear unwavering.
Luthor looked down at his own hands and noticed that they were red and slightly inflamed, but otherwise healed. He didn’t know whether to attribute it to whatever healing was done by the tribesmen or to his own supernatural ability to heal, but he was grateful to be healthier.
Luthor placed his hands on his hips in frustration as he faced the guard again. “Is there someone with whom I could discuss this matter? Are we your prisoners or are you our benefactors?”
He took a step forward, and the guard extended his arm until the tip of the spear pressed against Luthor’s chest. Despite the thick fur shirt, he could feel the sharpened metal tip biting into the flesh beneath.
“Fair enough,” he said. “You’ve made your point. You’re clearly more the former rather than the latter. So what shall I do in the meantime? Shall I just stand here and wait until you feel more talkative?”
The spear was pulled away from his chest. Using its tip as a pointer, the guard motioned toward the pile of furs on the floor.
Luthor looked at the furs before looking back to the guard. “So you do understand me after all? Very well, I’ll play the part of your patient captive until your boss arrives.”
Luthor returned to the furs and sat down beside Simon. He placed his hand on the man’s forehead and was pleasantly surprised to note a lack of fever. Though Simon wouldn’t yet wake up, it was because of his body’s need to regenerate rather than fighting against a burgeoning infection.
The wait was blissfully short before the tent flap was thrown aside and the room flooded with natural sunlight. Luthor turned and noted a much smaller silhouette at the door. The person who ducked under the opening was much shorter than the muscular guard watching the prisoners. As the newcomer entered the room, the light from the campfire danced across her features.
The red from the fire matched her red hair. Her features were weatherworn but still remarkably attractive. Though she looked starkly different in native furs as compared to the stately dress she had worn to the governor’s Winter Ball, there was no mistaking it was the same woman. This was the same woman, Luthor had to remind himself, who had subsequently transformed into a werewolf before throwing herself off the third-story balcony.
She smiled as she realized that the apothecary was awake and made her way around the fire. Luthor climbed to his feet as she approached, though he was suddenly feeling less attracted to her than he had at the ball.
“We were never properly introduced,” Mattie said, extending her hand. “My name is Mattie.”
“The werewolf,” Luthor replied, staring at her hand.
She slowly curled her finger and withdrew her hand. “If such titles make you happy then yes, I’m Mattie the werewolf.”
Luthor’s hard expression softened as he glanced over his shoulder to where the Inquisitor slept soundly. “You rescued us, I presume?”
“We watch Haversham intently, recording anyone who enters or exits the city. We saw you both escape through one of the tunnel entrances. When you collapsed in the snow, yes, we rescued you and brought you both here.”
Luthor raised his hand to his face and touched the skin beneath his eye. Though it had mostly healed already, it was still tender to the touch.
“I recall it being a fairly violent rescue from my perspective. Still, we both owe you a debt of gratitude.” He motioned toward the guard, who remained stoically at his post. “Though I’m under the distinct impression we are not your honored guests.”
Mattie looked over her shoulder toward the guard. “He’s unfortunately a necessary precaution, until we can decide what sort of threat you both pose.”
Luthor pointed toward Simon. “The Inquisitor is sound asleep, still recovering from his wounds. We’re clearly not a threat.”
Mattie frowned and glared at Luthor. “Perhaps I misspoke. We’re deciding what sort of a threat you are.”
Luthor was taken aback. He placed his hand on his chest in mock indignation. “Me? I’m hardly a threat.”
Mattie looked over his shoulder and saw Simon stir. “Perhaps this is a better discussion for outside.”
She turned and walked toward the tent flap. The guard pulled it aside for her, allowing her to pass through. Though he glared at Luthor, he didn’t impede his exit.
Luthor was forced to raise a hand to block the glare as he stepped outside. The sun was once again burning brightly overhead. His eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the tent’s interior, and the brilliant sunlight was practically blinding. He still had his glasses on his face, but the tinted lenses were missing.
“How long was I asleep?” he asked, realizing that it was at least the following day.
“Two days now,” Mattie replied.
She walked away from the stunned apothecary and approached a central bonfire. Thick logs, brushed free of collecting snow, were placed around the fire like benches. The fire itself roared taller than Luthor, its flames licking the sky and sending a cloud of black smoke toward the mountains nearby. Around him, natives wandered between similarly formed dome tents. Though some appeared to be family, most of the people he saw were warriors, carrying rifles or spears.
“Two days?” Luthor asked in disbelief.
“You were tired and clearly needed the rest,” Mattie said as she stopped near the bonfire. Her red hair billowed as waves of heat rolled over her. “We saw no reason to dis
turb you.”
“Where are we?” he asked.
“No,” Mattie replied. “It’s about time we change the dynamic of this relationship. You are our guests and I have far too many questions that you will answer in turn.”
Luthor suddenly felt very aware of all the warriors surrounding him, carrying their assorted weapons. “Very well.”
“Why are you here?”
Luthor gestured toward the people around him. “I think you know why we’re here. There were clearly founded reports of werewolves in this region. Simon is an Inquisitor, and we were assigned to discover the truth.”
“That’s only partially true,” Mattie said. “If you were only searching for werewolves, you would have finished your investigation by now. Clearly, I transformed before your eyes. Furthermore, you wouldn’t have snuck out of the city in the dead of night, like thieves. What were you running from?”
Luthor bit his lip as he stared at the redhead. “The same thing you have been, unless I’m mistaken.”
Mattie turned toward him and smiled. “Then you now realize the threat Gideon Dosett poses?”
“Far more than I believe even you do.”
Mattie stared at him intently, as though attempting to decode his cryptic last statement.
Luthor quickly changed the subject. “You said inside that you thought I was a threat.”
“I said we were deciding how much of a threat you were,” she corrected.
“But I am right in assuming that you believe me to be a threat?”
Mattie’s gaze narrowed as she continued staring at him. “We had to undress you to warm you and treat your frostbite. I saw the marks on your body.”
Luthor paled. “You’d do well to forget what you saw. Whatever you think it was, you’re sadly mistaken.”
“I know what you are,” she continued.
Luthor clenched his teeth and walked toward her. He grabbed her by her arm and pulled her in close. One of the tribesmen nearby clenched his spear and stepped forward threateningly. Mattie raised her hand and shook her head, letting him know she wasn’t in trouble.
“You know nothing about me,” Luthor said.
“You’re a wizard,” Mattie said, not intimidated by the short man. “Those are runes, aren’t they?”
The color returned to Luthor’s face in a bright crimson, and he let her go.
Mattie jutted a thumb toward the tent in which Simon slept. “Does he know?”
“No!” Luthor said brusquely. “No, he doesn’t, nor will he.”
“Who are you? And I don’t mean what’s your name and I certainly don’t mean the farce about how you’re an apothecary. Who are you really?”
Luthor took off his glasses and wiped their lenses with the lapel of his fur-lined parka. He chewed on his bottom lip as he worked, as much to delay the inevitable as to actually clean his glasses. He wondered how much to actually reveal to her before quickly realizing that he had little option. He was her prisoner, and they needed her help.
“I work for a shadow organization known as the Cabal of Mages,” he said finally, albeit hesitantly.
Mattie shook her head. “I’ve never heard of them.”
Luthor laughed nervously. “They wouldn’t be a very good shadow organization if you had. Do you know of the Rift and the threat it poses to our kingdom?”
Mattie shrugged but continued watching Luthor cautiously. “I’ve heard the stories. It’s a passage to a world of magic. Vile monsters have escaped from its depths.”
“You’re right, but only partially so.”
Luthor sat down on a log near the central campfire. He patted the spot beside him, inviting Mattie to sit. She looked at him for a moment before deciding he wasn’t a threat. Sitting down, she stared at the obviously strained man. Luthor looked around them and noticed the wary eyes of a number of guards standing nearby, ready to strike at the apothecary.
Luthor replaced his glasses on his face. He then held up his hands, balling them into fists while keeping them a foot apart. “The Rift is a vestibule between our world and a world of magic, but it’s not the world of magic you presume. This realm of magic isn’t a fantasy world full of mischievous gnomes, prancing elves, merry dwarves, and benevolent human kingdoms. The realm of magic is a place of nightmares, full of vile monsters.”
“Like werewolves?” Mattie asked sarcastically.
Luthor frowned. “Yes, but not like you and your ilk. The werewolves on the other side of the Rift are savage beasts who rip men limb from limb and devour their flesh. No offense to your kind, but they’re exactly what we thought you were when the Inquisitors received the governor’s report.”
“I’m happy to disappoint.”
He took a deep breath before continuing, smashing his fists together until his fingers overlapped. “When our worlds smashed together and the Rift tore the Kingdom of Khovus asunder, it opened wide a gateway to the realm of magic. This realm is full of deadly creatures, like the werewolves we assumed you and your kin to be. Yet none of the creatures are nearly as dangerous as the demons that rule that land.”
He stared at Mattie with an intensity that startled her.
“The five demon lords ruled that land for a millennium with ruthlessness. If you imagine the creatures that have escaped the Rift, think then about the type of beasts that would have to exist to rule over them as unchallenged kings.”
Mattie swallowed hard. “Is it these demons that you seek?”
Luthor dropped his hands to his side and nodded. “It’s the demons that the Cabal was created to hunt. Despite what you might think about those of us who wield magic, not all of us seek the destruction of our world. Many of us are simply victims of a spreading infection of magic, much like you and your tribesmen. The Cabal, however, knows the threat these demons pose. The Rift has granted them a chance to expand their kingdom into our world.”
“That’s why you became an assistant to an Inquisitor, isn’t it?” she asked knowingly.
Luthor smiled. “Can you think of a better way to investigate reports of magical activity, to hunt the very demon’s presence that the Cabal was created to uncover? Even if Simon is not the Inquisitor assigned to such a report, I am in a position to overhear the constant reports spread between the Inquisitors within their keep.”
“You say that the Cabal—that you—hunt these demons. Then they’re already here?” she asked.
“Closer that you would believe.”
“You mean here?” she said as she pointed to the ground at her feet, though to her credit, she didn’t sound nearly as surprised as Luthor would have believed. “There’s one of the demons in Haversham, isn’t there?”
Luthor nodded. “I didn’t arrive with any suspicions that there would be, but I was quickly surprised by his presence.” He ran a hand along his chest. “These runes on my body are protective wards, meant to alert me to the presence of dark magic. There has been one man’s presence in which the runes constantly reacted.”
“Gideon Dosett,” she surmised.
“Very good. He is, by definition, a silver-tongued devil, with the ability to sway men’s minds with his spoken word. Yes, I was alerted to Mr. Dosett’s use of dark magic almost immediately.”
Mattie furrowed her brow. “Then why not destroy him at once?”
“For a multitude of reasons. First and foremost, I can’t reveal myself without putting myself in harm’s way and exposing the Cabal. I care greatly for Simon, and he’s perhaps the most liberal of all the Inquisitor’s of whom I’ve encountered. Even so, Simon is beholden to them. I wouldn’t want to put him in that position unless absolutely unavoidable. Secondly, I had no way of knowing if Gideon was merely a wizard or a demon. While I would have stopped him had he been a mere dark wizard, the means to handle a wizard are far different than the techniques for handling a demon.”
“But you’re convinced now?” she asked.
Luthor shivered. “I’ve seen his true form, as has Simon. There is no doubt in my mind that Gi
deon Dosett is a disguise, covering one of the demon lords straight from the Rift.”
They sat in silence as Luthor’s gaze fell on the blazing bonfire in front of them. His eyes reflected the dancing flames as he stared off into the distance.
“Does the Cabal know?” she asked finally. “Will they send someone to stop him?”
Luthor’s gaze didn’t leave the flames. “They know. Though I was interrupted in my last conversation with them, they were alerted to the demon’s presence. And they won’t send anyone else. They’ve already sent one of their best.”
He looked over, and Mattie was stunned to realize he was talking about himself. “You really are full of surprises, Luthor. So the Inquisitors know nothing of the Cabal?”
Luthor laughed sadly. “Our goals may be more aligned than the Inquisitors realize, but they wouldn’t hesitate to destroy my order if they knew we existed.”
Before Mattie could respond, one of the tribesmen ran up to the pair. “Your friend is awake.”