Wolves of the Northern Rift by Messenger Jon

Author:Messenger, Jon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-05-19T16:00:00+00:00

The Inquisitor sputtered as the alcohol struck the back of his throat. His eyes opened in surprise and his hands flew to his mouth as he coughed painfully. Spittle flew from his lips, and he indignantly wiped the strands of mucus from his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

Simon’s eyes were full of confusion and anguish, a far cry from the automaton that had assaulted Luthor minutes earlier.

“Did you just pour scotch down my throat as I slept?” Simon managed between rough coughs.

“Forgive me, sir, but it was a necessary evil,” Luthor replied calmly.

The coughs wracked him with anguish, as though Simon’s chest was collapsing onto his lungs. He coughed again and winced.

“A necessary evil?” Simon echoed. His eyes scanned the room, adding to his burgeoning disorientation. “Where am I, Luthor? Is this your room?”

Luthor stood from his spot on the edge of the couch, allowing Simon to remove his feet from the couch and sit on the cushioned furniture. Simon grasped the sides of his head as soon as he sat upright to suppress the piercing ache behind both eyes.

“It is,” Luthor said. He furrowed his brow in concern. “Can you look up for me, sir?”

Still attempting to brush away the cobwebs that so thoroughly coated his every thought, Simon blindly obeyed. Luthor noted the series of bright red blood vessels enveloping the sclera of both eyes.

“Dear Lord,” Simon muttered as he lowered his gaze once more. “What happened to your room?”

Luthor knelt in front of his mentor so he might look into Simon’s eyes. “Sir, do you genuinely have no recollection of this very night’s events?”

Simon shook his head, perplexed. “I remember visiting Mr. Dosett and you taking suddenly ill. After that I remember… nothing.”

Luthor placed his hand on Simon’s shoulder and raised the glass. “Drink some more of this. It will help with your headache.”

Simon took the glass but examined it with a suspicious eye. “Is it worth inquiring what’s in this brew?” He sniffed the glass and arched his eyebrow in surprise. “Aside from scotch, which is readily apparent.”

“Poppy extract to control the pain,” Luthor replied.

“Naturally,” Simon said with a smile.

“Powdered willow bark to help with the inflammation.”

Simon took a draw from the glass before Luthor had to explain any of the other more mysterious ingredients. The Inquisitor sighed as the alcohol ran over his raw throat.

“Is it helping, sir?” Luthor asked.

Simon nodded. “Impressively so.” His gaze fell to the brilliant red finger marks on Luthor’s neck. “My good chap, I believe it’s time you told me what in the bloody hell has happened.”

Luthor looked Simon sternly in the eyes. “You attacked me, here in my room. Don’t worry, sir, it wasn’t of your own volition.”

Simon blanched before turning scarlet red. “That in no way sets my mind at ease. Are you insinuating that I fell under the sway of a mere hypnotist? Have I become so simpleminded that a parlor trick such as having me stare at a swaying watch would put me under—?”

“Sir,” Luthor interrupted, “I don’t believe you were hypnotized.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.