Clockwork Looking Glass (Heart of Bronze Book 1)

by Michael Rigg

  Leslie's eyes grew as wide as saucers as he struggled to unshoulder his heavy rifle. The man behind Maggie predictably mimicked my move and grabbed her around the throat. Maggie cried out as he jerked her backward to use her tiny body as a shield, then he drew his own pistol and jammed it into her back. The unarmed Wiley simply stepped back and turned to face me.

  Vernon held his hands out waist high with his palms toward the deck. "Do as the lady asks, boys." I didn't like his smile. Damn. He was enjoying this. That was bad.

  They all held their positions, each with a look in his eye like they couldn't wait to get their hands on me. Elias Vernon slowly lowered his right hand to the pearl-handled pistol on his right hip. I tensed up and pressed the barrel tighter against Fats' head, leveraging him back so he had no balance and had to lean on me for support, his arms out defensively.

  Vernon slowly smiled as he continued moving his hand. He unsnapped the holster and raised his eyebrows. "I'm just going to remove my weapon and place it carefully on the deck."

  I nodded sharply and cocked the pistol at Fats' temple. "Do it. Slow—"

  Before I could say 'slowly,' Elias Vernon drew his revolver and fired a single shot. Despite the noise in the open hangar bay, the pistol roared and bucked in his hand. Fats became dead weight in my arm as he slipped to the deck, the back of his head open where the captain's bullet burst through. Stunned, I lowered my pistol but didn't drop it. A long red smear decorated my blouse from my shoulder to my breast where Fats had once been.

  To his credit, Kevin finally had enough and took this very inopportune time to spring into action. Unfortunately, he didn't have the training I seemed to have. He dove at the much bigger captain to try to tackle him and only ended up pulling on his arm like a tired child clinging to a parent. Everything seemed to fall into slow motion as Leslie raised his soup can gun toward us, Wiley jumped clear, and the pirate with Maggie loosened his grip on her to point his pistol at Kevin.

  Fortunately, the sudden shift and commotion was enough to distract Captain Vernon. He started to turn toward Kevin and I took that opportunity to raise my weapon and fire on the man behind Maggie who was about to shoot Kevin in the back. It was a dangerous move, I know, but it's like I wasn't controlling my own arm. Before I knew it I had pulled the trigger. My shot rang out—not nearly as loud as the Captain's—and caught the pirate on the left side of his forehead. His head snapped back and he dropped like a rag doll. As he fell back, the arm that was around Maggie dragged her down with him. That move by a dead man saved her life.

  The boom from the can rifle rattled everything in the bay. Like a fast-moving RPG round, I saw the flat-tipped projectile eject from Leslie's big gun in a bloom of orange flame. It whooped over Maggie's head, past my left shoulder, and exploded in a shower of uncooked baked beans on the far wall behind me.

  Vernon, probably as good a shot as me if not better, raised his pistol toward me as I dove to the side. I heard the roar and felt the thump of the bullet in the loaded crates behind which I dove. I rolled onto my back and opened the cylinder of the revolver I held. I still had five rounds. Vernon, whose weapon I recognized as a .357 long-barrel (or something similar) would have four shots left in that one, six in the holstered pistol on his left hip. Like me, he was right handed. I snapped the revolver closed and considered the situation. Five pirates, two dead. One unarmed. One a kid with a slow-load homemade soup can gun. One heavily armed and highly skilled captain with a chip on his shoulder.

  There was only one other thing wrong.

  "Okay, Red, fun's over," Vernon called as the ringing stopped in my ears. "Get out here or I kill them both."

  Slowly, I peeked over the top of the crate. Wiley, now armed with one of the Captain's heavy pistols, pointed it in my direction with it gripped tightly in both hands. Vernon pointed the other at Kevin and Maggie where they huddled on the floor in each other's arms. Leslie, it seemed, was having trouble re-loading his gun. A can of chicken soup slipped out of his hands, clanged on the deck, and rolled out the hatch.

  I had no choice. I knew we were all dead, but if I didn't do as he asked, Kevin and Maggie would be dead in the next second. I stood up slowly and tossed out my pistol. It clattered across the top of some crates far enough away that I couldn't spring for it. I raised my hands above my head and stepped out from behind the crates. "Please... don't hurt them. I'll do whatever you say."

  Elias Vernon smiled at me. "Smart lady. I'm going to love taking you up on that... later." Then his smile faded. He looked down at Kevin and Maggie. "But you took out two of my men. Seems you owe me two."

  I shook my head. "Nope. Sorry. You took out Fats yourself. That wasn't my doing, Captain Vernon."

  Wiley, still in Kevin's top hat, stared me down coldly. The barrel of the gun pointed at me as dark as his eyes. Leslie, it seemed, had given up on loading his rifle and stood there with it hanging loosely in his drooping arms. Vernon, turned to me and smiled again.

  He said, "Okay. I'm a fair man." He pointed to Maggie and Kevin. "Pick one."

  CHAPTER 26, “Spies”

  Bradford Thorne yawned and stretched as he looked out at the rising sun of a new day through the gauzy curtains of his penthouse bedroom. Frustration was no longer building. Thanks to the conversation he had with Susanne Norris last night, he felt better about everything. He felt he had a handle on things, a grasp on reality, a purpose, and a weapon to use against Teivel Hearse.

  As he rolled over, his hand touched the cold body next to him. Like him, she was nude. Unlike him, she was quite dead. Thorne frowned and stared at the woman's profile, her face frozen in the final seconds of her terrible life, her lips slightly parted, her eyes bulging from her pale gray skin, pleading for her life to the face that no longer hovered over her. He reached out and pulled the sheets back below her breasts. The black bruises around her neck looked like a faint finger pattern that matched his own grasp, their darkness bleeding into the purple veiny marks stretching into her face and chest. Thorne reached out and cupped one of her cold breasts before leaning over to kiss the corner of her mouth. "Thank you, babydoll. Last night was wonderful."

  He pulled the sheet up over her head and rolled out of bed. "Don't bother getting up, my love," he snickered. "I'll send someone by to get you cleaned up and removed."

  As Thorne made his way to the shower, he hummed merrily, thinking about last night and the wonderful time he'd had with the beautiful Susanne Norris....

  It was only hours ago that Thorne paced the plush carpet of his penthouse in Manhattan. Like his other apartments, his office and the conference room at Thorne & Wolfe (he refused to even consider Thorne & Hearse), it was decorated with the opulence of a king. Gold and marble statues, plush royal velvet tapestries, antique vases, mounted animal heads, and rare copies of first edition books littered the space in every room, wall and corner of the penthouse. The only space void of Thorne's materialistic desires was the wide floor-to-ceiling panes that looked out over the city and offered him an unobstructed view of the Center of Trade.

  Susanne Norris sat on the sofa nearby, her legs crossed at the knee, sipping the champagne he had given her. When Mr. Thorne had asked her to accompany him she was thrilled and frightened at the same time. While many of the women of the company had fought to climb the ladder and become the personal executive assistants to the bosses, there were plenty who vanished after being called up. Some of the girls in the lower tiers claimed the others had been summarily fired, others have claimed they were actually killed. Susanne feared the more paranoid of her compatriots were correct. After all, Bradford Thorne seemed to call upon an endless train of executive assistants, and none were ever seen or heard from again.

  She watched as he paced silently as she nervously smoothed out the long skirt and plucked at the laced Victorian collar she wore. She fought her nervousness with the champagne as her boss seemed to grow more and more irritated. He had yet to ask her to take a memo, file papers or even favor him with discourse, but she dare n
ot ask to leave.

  Thorne stopped his pacing and glared at the twin towers. Then he finally spoke. "Frustration builds, Miss Norris."

  She swallowed hard. "Sir?"

  He turned, his beady dark eyes taking her in from toes to eyes. "I said, 'frustration builds'."

  Susanne nodded and leaned forward to place her empty champagne glass on the coaster of the mahogany coffee table. "Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Thorne?"

  He smiled warmly, but his eyes glinted like black ice. "Sit back. Relax. I'll have need of you in a moment."

  "Of course, sir." She did as she was told, scooting back into the plush leather sofa and resting her hands in her lap. She watched as he turned from the windows and moved around behind the sofa. When he disappeared into the adjoining dining area behind her, she turned her attention to the hands in her lap. Susanne winced and bit her lip before trying, "You seem on edge about something, Mr. Thorne."

  Thorne ignored her, of course. The building frustration was mounting so much he knew he wouldn't be able to speak without making involuntary squeaking sounds. He reached up on the wall of the dining room and retrieved a 14th century crossbow already loaded and pulled taught with a sharpened bolt. As he imagined Susanne Norris's body going limp with the impact of the bolt embedding in the back of her skull, he thought about the ghoul who had taken over his company. Oh, Teivel Hearse—or whatever its name is—can say that they're partners all it wants. It can even claim to be his intellectual equal in all things. But it was a monster, an animal, a smelly sewer-crawling thing that breeds other sewer crawling things... and to actually claim partial ownership of Thorne & Wolfe.... As he took down the crossbow and felt its weight, all its pent up kinetic power matched his own. He thought about the last time he'd seen Hearse, the beast atop that woman on the conference table, its eyes glowing red.

  That witch had taken control of my mind, Thorne raged internally. She was mine to use, not his.

  Susanne lifted her gaze to the windows and looked out at the twinkling lights of the New Yorke City skyline, the blinking lights of the aerocars and late night trans-continental SkyTrain streams, the enormous silhouettes of airships against the midnight sky. She looked out at the twin towers and pursed her lips in thought. "Mr. Hearse is a nice man, tall, with a splendid taste in attire," she said. She almost whispered it aloud and frowned, wondering where that thought came from.

  Thorne stepped gingerly up behind her and leveled the crossbow at the base of her skull. He eased his fingers around the trigger. "What did you say, my dear?"

  Susanne turned her head slightly but not enough to see Thorne or the ancient weapon. "I said... Mr. Hearse is a nice man, tall, with a splendid taste...in attire." She frowned again. "It's odd."

  "Indeed, it is," Thorne smirked as he sighted down the crossbow's length and slowly tightened his grip. He could already feel the buck of the preserved Osage wood as the tension was finally released on the old bow, imagine her head snapping forward and her body collapsing between the coffee table and the sofa.

  "It's strange that I can't seem to say anything more about him. It's almost as if..."

  "As if what, my dear?" The string of the bow creaked slightly as the release quivered under the leverage of the trigger.

  "I don't know exactly. He makes me feel...." Susanne shook her head and looked down at her hands. She clasped and unclasped them. She thought about whether or not to say what was on her mind, then decided to just spill it. "I don't like him, Mr. Thorne."

  Thorne lowered the crossbow. "What?"

  Susanne leaned forward and slowly stood. Thorne quickly stepped back, turned, and replaced the crossbow on its wall hook. She caught his eye as she turned around and scowled slightly. "What are you doing, sir?"

  Taking his hand off the crossbow, Thorne shrugged and approached her, moving in long slow strides as he rounded the sofa. "I thought you said he was a nice man, Miss Norris."

  She nodded slightly and frowned. "I-I did, sir, yes." Then she quickly held up her hands. "But I meant no disrespect of the company, sir. I just—"

  “But then you said you don't like him.”

  “I did, but I... I...”

  "How do you feel about me, Miss Norris?" Thorne said as he stepped up to her. His handlebar mustache twitched slightly. "Be... honest."

  Susanne Norris looked into one beady black eye, then the other before swallowing hard and realizing no answer would be better than the truth. "You frighten me, Mr. Thorne. There are rumors that some of the girls who work for you vanish, and that you—"

  His hands shot up to her throat and gripped it tightly. Susanne gagged and coughed as her voice and air were cut off beneath his tightening fingers. "Interesting. Tell me more." Her eyes bulging, Susanne reached up and scratched weakly at his wrists, her mouth working to plead silently for her life.

  Thorne said, "I'll let go of you so you can speak, but if you scream or try to run, I will kill you gruesomely, Miss Norris, is that clear?" Her head quivered, the only nod she could muster.

  He released her and stepped back. Susanne's hands immediately went to her neck and massaged the pain as she rasped to get her voice back. "Take your time," Thorne said before pursing his lips and returning to the dining area and the liquor cabinet. "I'll bet you can use a stronger drink than that weak champagne I gave you earlier." She didn't reply. She stood still, her hands trembling and her knees quaking as she watched him open the cabinet and remove two glasses and a bottle.

  "Twelve-year-old scotch from Kentucky," he smiled as he uncorked the bottle and proceeded to pour the two glasses. "I'm sparing your life, Miss Norris. Do you know why?"

  She shook her head.

  "Because you are the only one who has ever told me the truth. Even our dearly departed Nigel Wolfe was loathe to give me direct criticism at times." He rounded the sofa and held a glass out to her.

  She stared at the glass.

  "Take it," he commanded through clenched teeth, his jaw tight.

  Flinching, she reached out and took the glass, then held it in both hands to keep from shaking the scotch out onto the expensive carpet.

  Thorne threw back his own drink and exhaled sharply as it burned warmly down his throat. Then he nodded to his guest and watched, smiling, as she drank her scotch in several small gulps. She winced and coughed as she handed the glass to him. He took it and set both glasses on the coffee table. "Very good. Now, in total honesty, Miss Norris, what would you say to me if I commanded you to strip down and service me?"

  Again, Susanne flinched, but this time for a different reason. Her skin blushed and she held her hands to her throat and chest. She shook her head and said, "Please, no." Thorne's smirk was satisfied. "That's not an answer to that question. I didn't command you to beg me not to, I asked your response to my proposal."

  Still shaking her head, she said, "I-I would say no. No, sir. No."

  He raised an eyebrow. "They all say no at first. What makes you different, Miss Norris?"

  She glanced left and right as if looking for the answer, or maybe a weapon or a way out. "I'd defend myself, sir."

  "Indeed," he laughed. "I'm intrigued."

  "I-I know you're going to kill me anyway, so I wouldn't d-die without a fight, and I would let you--"

  "I'm sure you wouldn't. You seem like a feisty girl." He paused and took a step back, considered her body as he twirled his mustache. Then his jaw grew taught once more as fierceness flared in his eyes. "I said relax, Miss Norris."

  Susanne flinched, fought her hands to her sides and took a deep shuddering breath as she forced herself to relax.

  Thorne turned back toward the tall windows and sighed. Over his shoulder, he spoke calmly, reassuring her. "Teivel Hearse is an abomination to this corporation. I need people under me who will help me take back what is rightfully mine." He stopped and stared at her. She turned her eyes from him, let them flit to the ceiling before settling on the floor a few feet in front of her.

  Thorne continued, his voice much so
fter. "I am just a lonely man, Susanne. I don't know how to properly behave with a lady as lovely as yourself. You are very brave, wise and dedicated to the corporation, a willful Imperial girl. I like that."

  Nodding slightly, Susanne brought her eyes back up to his. Her trembling began to subside as she realized he had a use for her and might not kill her. He looked back out at the cityscape, let his eyes follow the streaks of lightning behind a distant SkyTrain. "It's true I've exercised my Ident to the extreme. If someone has displeased me, I've taken their life. I do so because they fail, Susanne. It's not personal. I am not a monster. It's... business. Do you understand this?"

  She didn't, but she nodded anyway.

  "No you don't," he said with a smile and a wink. "Remember what I said about honesty."

  Her nod became a shake. "I don't understand, sir."

  Thorne took a deep breath and said, "How does Thorne & Norris sound to you? As a partnership, I mean. A corporation." Susanne blinked. She wasn't sure she'd heard him right. "Did you say N-Norris, sir?"

  "You would be the first female major shareholder in Imperial history, famous, wealthy, powerful." Her hand floated back up to her bruised neck as her eyes darted around the penthouse, from golden statue to African tribal shield. "Wh-What would—?"

  Thorne held up his hand. "First things first, my dear." He turned to face her but kept his distance. "I need loyalty. I need eyes and ears inside the company. I need someone with the will to break its spell—you know it's a ghoul, don't you? Hearse, I mean."

  Susanne's eyes locked on his. She took a deep breath and said, "Mr. Hearse is a nice man, tall...." She scowled.

  "It's a trick. Fight it."

  "Mr. Hearse is a ...ghoul?"

  Thorne nodded and stepped closer to her. "Yes. You will continue to repeat his damnable mantra, but your inner mantra will be to service me as my personal executive assistant, is that clear?"