the girl nodded and stared at the floor. Pink bloomed on her fair cheeks. Coyle walked a few steps and felt the tug of a missed opportunity on her conscience. She turned back.
The girl frowned and pointed to her chest.
Coyle gave her another once-over and met her eyes.
Gibby nodded and Coyle left the girl frowning, sniffing her hair, and noticing the dark smudge on her left arm. She was young and naive, but if Coyle could try to steer her in the right direction, then maybe Gibby could have a chance at bettering herself.
The hallway was spacious enough for guests to pass each other comfortably. Passengers walked back and forth throughout the cars, enjoying eateries, shopping, small galleries, and museums. Coyle didn’t mind the exercise and enjoyed people-watching. Children chased each other back and forth while their parents and nannies chatted with new acquaintances. Younger women than Coyle giggled and blushed at young men.
She wondered if she would be doing the same if—no. Definitely not. That’s not who she was. Not anymore. Trying to be the first female detective in the state cemented her place in the astonishing tales of women breaking the mold. No man would have her now. Not even Poes.
She suddenly realized something about last night was nagging her, something about the secret. But what? Something about his eyes, the cologne he wore, his strong arms. Nothing was falling into place. Not yet. She shook her head and kept walking.
Superior engineering kept the cars quiet, and the experience was like riding on air. She took a deep breath and smiled. Freshly baked bread and smoked meats were being prepared for dinner. The thought of buttered rolls with blackberry jam and smoked pork dripping with fat danced through her mind. Her mouth began to water.
She arrived at Treece’s suite and found the men had arrived earlier and were sipping drinks. Cigars hung from the mouths of those who fancied expensive tobacco. She grimaced as she remembered her pipe on the dresser. The room was impeccable in design with solid mahogany walls and cabinets, frosted-glass electric lamps and stuffed leather chairs.
As soon as she stepped into the room, everyone stopped talking and turned. In turn, she glanced at everyone else. Smoke hung in the air, though it wasn’t as thick as the tension. She had a feeling she had been the topic of conversation. And for some reason, she didn’t care. She was used to being outside the circle of her peers, and if that was her place, then so be it. She wasn’t here to impress anyone. Not anymore.
“Would you like something to drink?” Treece asked. The look in his eyes suggested this wasn’t the time to get smashed again.
“Just soda water and lime, please.” She removed her gloves, and GEM went to the bar to retrieve her beverage. Her gaze locked onto Poes’s and the attorney nodded to an empty seat across from him but next to Bolt. She sighed and sank into the chair. Everything she had wanted to say last night lay tangled in a jumbled mess. Now wasn’t the time for that particular discussion. She’d have to wait. In the meantime, she rubbed her temples, feeling the heat from their eyes as if she had to answer for something. Well, let them ask. Let’s see what inane questions they have for me today.
“Now we have everyone here,” Vonteg said. “Time to find out what we know about last night’s discovery.”
“The only person we should be concentrating on is Miss Coyle,” Bolt said.
“I’m sorry,” Coyle said. “What are we talking about?”
“My Tesla-Vine Gate was destroyed last night,” Treece said.
“And we,” Duone added, motioning to everyone, “Are the suspects.”
“We,” Bolt said, mimicking Duone’s gesture, “were all together, except for her.”
“The doctor’s orders were that you stay in bed,” Poes said. “Yet you left your room and apparently wandered about the mansion until you found the evidence you collected. Care to elaborate?”
All eyes turned to her. The familiar sensation of heat rising in her cheeks wouldn’t help her innocence. But she was innocent, of course.
“The constant accusations against me are getting a bit overused, don’t you think? But I understand your concern, and I’m only too happy to steer you in the right direction—and away from me especially,” Coyle said. “I did leave my room. Based on the excitement I had earlier in the day, I knew there wouldn’t be any rest on my schedule. My mind was busy with what I had discovered, and I had to untangle the mess.”
“You’re talking about the notes,” Duone said.
“I am. And I felt I could prove more useful by using my strengths than by resting.”
“Is getting hammered one of your strengths?” Bolt asked.
“I had a very hard day, one that will stay in my mind for longer than I wish,” she said. “I’m sure you, being a wrencher and all, understand having a few drinks after a long day.”
“Yes. I am a man, after all, and it’s not so uncouth to knock a few back with the boys.” Bolt huffed.
“We are not here to discuss the formalities of social drinking,” Treece said. “We are a team of well-trained people working together toward a common goal. But one of us, or someone else we aren’t aware of, is hindering our progress.”
Bolt harrumphed. Ice clinked against glass. Coyle studied the ceiling, her fingers dabbing the lines of perspiration along her hairline.
“Sorry to say,” Poes said, “but Coyle was the only one wandering around the house, while most of us were together.”
“Well, I didn’t even know the thing existed,” Coyle said, “let alone know how to destroy it. The whole matter of my involvement is preposterous. I’m here to help uncover evidence, and I’m doing it the best I can, thank you.”
“That you are,” Treece said. He gave her a confident smile, but she wasn’t sure he meant it.
“Poes, you have the most experience with cross-examination. What do you think of Miss Coyle’s explanation?” Vonteg asked.
“I believe her,” he said without hesitation. “There isn’t a bone in her body that sides with injustice or chaos.”
“And how would you know what her bones like or dislike?” Bolt asked.
“She isn’t a dislikable character,” Poes answered. “And I know good character when I see it.”
Coyle shot a glance at Poes, swallowed the rest of her drink and stood.
“Would you care for another?” Treece asked.
“I’ll get it myself, thank you,” she said. “The smoke in the room is bothering me.”
“I’m telling you—” Bolt started, but the others interrupted. Their voices rose against each other, but most, if not all, agreed with Poes’s remarks.
I’m only disliked by the one, then.
She entered the private bar and ordered her drink, a real one this time, from the automaton behind the counter. Green lights pulsed in its glass-domed head. Unlike the simpler automatons, this one resembled an octopus. Eight arms moved about with quick, precise movements. Gears and tiny pistons worked synchronously within the brass framework until a highball glass was filled with soda water and Scotch. Mechanical claws set the glass carefully on the counter and pushed a wedge of lime onto the rim of the glass. Coyle picked it up.
“Thank you,” she said.
“My automaton bartenders have won over the tavern community throughout the larger cities.” Treece smiled. “It’s the tavern girls I can’t duplicate.”
“Do you have any who can solve crimes for you?”
He turned and gave her a long look before answering.
“What, tavern girls?” He ch
uckled. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. No, artificial people are capable of many things, but nothing beats human intuition and instinct, or his spirit.”
She took a sip and glanced sideways at him.
“Her spirit,” he added.
“I know you appreciate my efforts, even when I’m not certain how to present them.”
“You’re under a lot of pressure,” Poes said as he stepped up to the bar. “The way Treece has been touting you, we’re expecting you to solve the riddle of the Sphinx.”
“Man,” she said.
“Ah, yes. Oedipus,” Poes said, blinking. “Must have forgotten my history lessons.”
“Man is probably always the answer when looking for culprits,” Treece said. “Which reminds me: we still need to find out who disabled the gate.”
“We’ve been round and round with the lot,” Poes said. “All of us are adamant about our innocence.”
“And yet all of us are suspect,” Treece added.
“Have you asked the automatons?” Coyle asked.
Both men looked at her.
“I’m not... certain one of my automatons could do such a thing,” Treece said.
“But you just said it yourself: they’re capable of many things,” she said. “Why wouldn’t they be capable of destruction?”
Treece and Poes discussed the improbabilities of her suggestion while Coyle looked back at the eight-armed automaton. Each of its arms ended with metal-tipped claws capable of holding a delicate wineglass —or squeezing a throat.
The mechanical bartender whizzed its head around, staring into her eyes with pulsing green lights. In a flash of movement, its arms snapped out, claws reaching for her. She gasped and backed away. The arms extended too quickly, she thought, aiming right at her heart.
“It thinks you want a refill,” Treece said. “It’s reaching for your glass.”
She turned to him and back at the machine.
“Did you want a top-off?” Treece asked.
She glanced down at the glass in her hands, the ice swimming amidst the clear liquid. She looked back up at the automaton, sure of its murderous intentions. But no. It was just a machine, doing its job as a bartender.
Her shoulders drooped and she took a deep breath, shaking her head. She smiled, feeling silly for—
A mechanical hand grabbed her shoulder, the strength of it unhinging her. Without resistance, she was spun around to face GEM. His heavy mechanical hands grabbed both of her shoulders, holding her firmly.
So he can murder you.
“Miss Coyle,” GEM said. “I believe your presumption was correct.”
She stared at herself in his polished dome, eyes wide with terror. She was speechless.
“Miss Coyle?” GEM asked. “Are you well? Perhaps you should have more of the ‘firewater,’ as it were.”
“No,” she finally answered. “No, I’m fine. Just startled is all. Perhaps next time you could get my attention with a light tap on the shoulder.”
“I apologize,” GEM said. “But I discovered something interesting that we should look at.” GEM tapped a button and waited until a high-pitched whine rose steadily and the room darkened. He flipped a switch on his collar, and a green-tinted projection shot out of his eyes and onto the floor.
The other men stood round the image being cast, staring with curiosity and wonder. The image displayed someone walking down a hall inside Treece’s estate. It turned a corner and stepped into a room.
“That’s the gate room,” Treece said.
The viewer approached a beautiful, carven-wood arch with wires and strange looking contraptions off to the side. Mechanical hands drew close and applied a small box to the side of the arch before pushing a lever. Sparks flew, and flames spread over the arch in a matter of seconds. The image shifted away as the automaton left the room and returned to its duties.
“So,” GEM said, “this proves Miss Coyle’s innocence and concludes the baseless accusations against her. I, for one, would appreciate changing the tone toward her. After all, she did save my life.”
“By pushing her out of a closet?” Poes asked.
“She saved my life,” GEM repeated. “And if someone wants to attack her character, I won’t have it.”
“There, see?” Treece said. “It was someone other than the lot of us.”
“Any more questions?” Coyle asked. “Or perhaps we can get on with our task, as if it weren’t unnerving enough.”
Dinner was served. Their company steered away from rampant accusations and shared stories and backgrounds before returning finally to the subject at hand. All the while, Coyle kept quiet, chewing her roasted duck without the satisfaction of tasting it. Heat radiated from her cheeks, but she kept her composure, pushing the heaviness away and keeping herself busy, listening and watching and noting every detail and nuance of the rest of the group: whether they used their right hand or left, who fidgeted when certain questions were asked, who looked down at the table or tapped the floor when uncertain about something. Shallow breathing. The pulse rates in their jugulars. She couldn’t help it.
It was her hobby.
Some women liked needlepoint, baking or gardening. She wanted to know whom she was working with. Whom she could trust. And yet the person with whom she felt safest wasn’t there.
Fang.
The one person for whom she felt a modicum of assured trust wasn’t in the room. She glanced around, peering into the dark recesses of nearby rooms and once or twice outside the window. But the vampire remained hidden from their eyes and presence. After all, everyone except Coyle suspected Fang was responsible for the ordeal. Why would she want to make an appearance? Coyle herself had barely survived another rash of accusations, and she had been handpicked by this group.
Conversation finally came down to one thing: all of them were nervous about the coming event. The task of finding Moreci and stopping him from using an ancient book of curses was outside their bounds of expertise and bordered on unreasonable. Yet, they were Templars. This is what they did. She was in the same predicament as these men, leaps and bounds out of her comfort zone. Sitting behind a desk and piecing clues together was much more her style. She would have been happy pointing out the villain while other officers made the arrest. Instead, she was in a train on its way to an airship, surrounded by men unsure of who she was and a powerfully rich man she had to impress. She wasn’t sure of what they were going to face or whether or not they would survive.
Uncertainty had a way of embedding itself into the noblest of intentions. After all, they were only trying to save a city full of people from being destroyed.
“When do we catch up to the Dawn’s Edge?” Vonteg asked.
“In just over twelve hours,” Treece said.
“And then?” Duone asked.
“And then we’ll go from there,” Treece said. “I have men working on transit between the train and the airship.”
“Can’t we use one of your gates onboard the train?” asked Quolo.
“Not at these speeds, no,” Treece said. “From airship to airship, it’s a strong possibility. But not from a high-speed train.”
“I wonder what we’ll be facing once we’re on board,” Bolt asked.
“I’m more concerned about how we’re getting there,” Quolo said.
“We should be more concerned about what’s ultimately required of us,” Treece said. “Do each of you understand, to the fullest extent, what your duty entails?” His eyes studied hers.
She looked away, thumbing her glass, still quite uncertain. Stopping a thief from stealing a valuable piece of art was one thing; stopping a vengeful madman from killing an entire city... She shook her head, staring at her glass.
“I guess we’ll find out in twelve hours,” Bolt said.
“We don’t have much time to dilly-dally,” Duone said. “We need to go over some basic combat guidelines and survival medicine just in case. We’ll get an early start, oh seven hundred hours. See you then.”
Co
yle walked through the cars, full of mingling doubts. Tight knots gripped her upper back and her palms were damp from the inevitability of facing the unknown. And she had to face these unknowns with people who barely trusted her.
Hard drinks knocked on the door of her mind, inviting her to go numb, to relax, to forget the danger she was heading into.
Death waiting to clutch my hand.
She passed her room and nodded to Gibby, who smiled weakly. The girl was good-hearted, happy to have a job. Ah, youth! She remembered being naive like that. Part of her wished she had remained naive, and happy to have a simple job. Her job now was something she preferred not to think about. Why? Because... she wasn’t cut out for this. She had discovered plenty of evidence, but the entire ordeal has been much more involved than she could have imagined.
She wasn’t the one. Treece could find others who could do the job as well or better than she could. She’d learned who she was during this long exercise. She should have listened to her father: be smart, marry rich. Then she would actually get to enjoy being on a luxurious train heading east through the canyons of Utah. None of her current activities would be condoned by her doctor.
Health, yes. That was her ticket out of this mess. She would tell Treece tomorrow. No more chasing after certain death. She was done.
She passed through a lounge car and noticed a woman sitting at a small table studying a chessboard. Short dark hair, fair skin. Beautiful, dark-red evening dress with long sleeves. A small matching hat with a short, black veil covered her eyes and completed her outfit.
Coyle froze.
She clutched her purse, took a deep, quiet breath, and walked to the table.
“Does asking to play chess with a stranger make you that nervous?” Fang asked without taking her eyes off the board.
Coyle swallowed. “Is anyone sitting here?”
Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) Page 15