Free In the House of the Wicked by Thomas E. Sniegoski

to drive it away.
    He blinked wildly as he stared at the broad back of the one who had saved him. Slowly the figure turned, and he looked into the pale, tattooed face of the golem Scrimshaw.
    “It is dangerous here,” the golem said, moving to his master and pulling him to his feet. “We will need to be careful if we are to venture outside.”
    “You should have let the damnable thing take me,” Deacon spat. “There is nothing left to live for.”
    “What of your son?” Scrimshaw asked, shouldering the rifle.
    “My son?” Deacon asked angrily, looking at the tattooed face of his creation. “My son is dead.”
    Scrimshaw slowly shook his head.
    “No, master. Your son still lives.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    Remy didn’t immediately recognize the woman as she entered his office. Even though he had known her for years, Carol Berg had never been to his office, and it threw him off a bit to see her there.
    “Carol,” he began, a smile making its way across his face as he realized who she was.
    “She’s missing, Remy,” Carol said quickly, and it was then that Remy noticed her troubled expression, the lines of worry that had already etched their way into the skin of her face.
    She looked ten years older.
    “What are you talking about?” he questioned as he stood and moved around his desk toward her. “Who’s missing?”
    Carol’s shoulders sagged, and he was afraid that she might fall down. He helped her to the chair in front of his desk and knelt beside her, a comforting hand on her arm.
    “What’s happened?” Remy asked gently, trying to remain calm even though his heart was now hammering in his chest in anticipation of what was to come.
    “It’s Ashley…We’ve been calling her for days and she hasn’t answered,” Carol said, reaching into her purse to get her phone on some off chance that a call had come in and she hadn’t noticed. “We’ve left message after message…begging her to call us…”
    The woman’s voice cracked and she started to cry as she slid her phone back into her purse.
    Remy sat back on his haunches, allowing the information to sink in. Ashley Berg was Carol’s daughter. She was also a good friend of Remy’s—more than a friend, really—and had proven herself the most reliable babysitter Marlowe had ever had. He stood and grabbed a box of tissues from his desk, holding it out to Carol.
    “Have you called the school?”
    Ashley had gone off to Ashmore College in Brattleboro, Vermont, not three weeks ago. They had talked last week, and she was very excited about her classes, living in her own apartment, and finding a part-time job.
    Carol nodded as she took the Kleenex and dabbed at her eyes. “They said she hasn’t shown up for classes in three days. We called the police and they’re working with the college, but we don’t know what to do.”
    Carol fell eerily silent, staring ahead as if seeing a glimpse of something right around the corner. “Oh, my God, Remy,” she gasped, emotion dripping from every word. “Oh, my God. What if somebody has hurt her?”
    Remy reached out to put his arms around her, to lend her some of his strength. “It’s going to be all right,” he tried to soothe her, as she sobbed into the collar of his button-down shirt.
    “Where is she, Remy?” Carol asked between sobs. “Why isn’t she answering our calls? Why hasn’t she been to school or her apartment?”
    “I don’t know,” Remy said, holding her tighter, afraid that she might disintegrate in his arms. “But I’m going to find out.”
    She pulled away from him then, her wide, wet eyes staring into his.
    “I’m going to find out,” he repeated with a nod of promise.
    “I knew that’s what you’d say.” Carol’s lips trembled as she tried to pull herself together. “She loves you and Marlowe so much….” And then she closed her eyes, rivulets of tears running down her face. She crammed the tissues against them.
    “Carol, where’s Karl?” Remy asked about her husband,