Kiss of the Spindle

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  Daniel looked after her, strangely irritated he’d been summarily dismissed when he should have been glad to have another person aboard who understood the danger his passengers faced. He was usually alone, utterly and completely, bearing the emotional burden of ferrying people to safety whose lives were at stake.

  Bonadea and Lewis emerged next from the stairs, deep in discussion about advanced medical care for animals. Daniel followed them into the wardroom, and, as the clock struck the hour, he signaled the ’tons to begin serving. They were absent only one guest, and with any luck, Crowe’s appetite was sparse and he would stay away for the evening.

  The passengers claimed their prior seats, something Daniel noticed each voyage. People were creatures of habit, of consistency. He wasn’t going to complain in the least this time since Cooper sat to his right. Quince and Bonadea had taken up an animated discussion on his left, and Lewis sat next to Isla with a murmured comment. Isla laughed and leaned toward the handsome medic and said something that must have been equally witty, because he chuckled and gifted her with a smile that showed his perfect, white teeth.

  Daniel’s lips tightened. Samson would probably tell him that Adam Lewis was a visually appealing human, what with his even, symmetrical features, his head of thick blond hair, and his physical grace that Daniel had seen both in battle and once when the man had shifted during a full moon in India. Why such perfection bothered him now, he couldn’t imagine, especially as Lewis had always been a friend, someone whose company he enjoyed.

  A ’ton served his food, and Daniel picked up his silverware, his attention still on the couple to his right who seemed content to laugh themselves into oblivion.

  “Very well, then! We should say grace.” His loud pronouncement drew four pairs of eyes, and had he not been so irritated, he’d have laughed at the variety of expressions that ranged from surprise to bafflement.

  Isla cleared her throat. “Of course. We must have forgotten last evening. And this morning.”

  “And during teatime,” Quince offered.

  Daniel knew a moment’s panic when he realized he would have to now pronounce a blessing on the meal, something he hadn’t done since childhood. “Would anyone care to do the honors?”

  Four blank faces stared back at him, mute.

  “I believe we should be most grateful for our captain to do so,” Bonadea said.

  “Very well,” Daniel muttered.

  They each bowed their heads, glancing around at both him and each other. He opened his mouth to begin when Quince sat up straight in his chair. “We ought to join hands!”

  The others looked at him, and after a lengthy pause, Dr. Cooper nodded. “Of course we should.” She smiled at Quince and extended her arms to either side.

  Daniel supposed he should be grateful he had an excuse to touch her, but Lewis clasped her right hand, and Daniel felt his nostrils flare. He grabbed her left hand and reached for Quince’s, knowing he had only himself to blame for the extreme awkwardness that enveloped the room.

  The situation was made more bizarre as Lewis had to stretch across the table to reach Bonadea, who was forced to rise up in his seat to join hands. Dr. Cooper bowed her head, signaling the others, and Daniel stared at the tableau, wondering what had possessed him.

  Cooper gave him a side-glance, eyes wide and one brow lifted. She deliberately squeezed her eyes shut and bowed her head again.

  He took a deep breath. “Thank you for the food we eat, thank you for the world so sweet, thank you for the birds that sing, thank you, God, for everything.”

  They each looked up, mouths slack, still clasping hands.

  “Amen,” he said firmly.

  “Amen!” Cooper and Quince echoed. The other two mumbled their endorsement, and they all released hands.

  “What a heartwarming scene.” Crowe stood at the door, smiling. “I am sorry to have missed it.” He took his place at the foot of the table, and a ’ton bustled to serve his plate.

  Daniel thought he might have heard Quince whisper something about Satan, but it was drowned out by the clinking of silverware and renewed conversation, which started up again like a Victrola that had had its power cut abruptly with the needle still in the middle of the vinyl disc.

  “I must say, Captain, I find your sudden show of spiritualism surprising,” Quince said.

  “As do I,” Lewis drawled.

  “Oh, but refreshing,” Quince hastened to add. “The world could use more of it, I say.”

  “Indeed.” Crowe snapped his napkin into place. “Heathens are quite overrunning it.”

  “Agreed,” Bonadea said flatly and glanced at Crowe before turning his attention to Cooper. “Now, then, Dr. Cooper, suppose you tell us about your family. I’ve not heard much, other than your mother is the proprietress of Castles’.”

  “Is she?” Lewis looked at her in surprise. “It seems you come from a well-accomplished family.”

  Cooper smiled. “Thank you, and yes, Mr. Bonadea. My father passed when I was ten years old, leaving my mother, my younger sister, and me alone. He had not been a man of means, so my mother and aunt, who was also widowed, established Castles’ Boutique out of necessity. It has flourished, and we are grateful.”

  “Oh my, I should say!” Quince beamed at her. “My daughters and granddaughters are always in fits of ecstasy after returning from an excursion to Castles’. Your mother is to be commended.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Quince. She has indeed put all of herself into the boutique. Very determined from the start.”

  “I imagine such a venture must have consumed all of her time.” Crowe watched her as he took another bite.

  She glanced at him, and Daniel noted her fingers tightening on her fork.

  “Who cared for you and your sister, then, I wonder?” Crowe continued.

  Cooper took her time cutting a small piece of beef into smaller squares, and Daniel wondered what kind of damage she could do to the meat with her throwing stars. “I did—but we were part of a close neighborhood.” She looked at Crowe, her expression hard, even in profile.

  Daniel wondered how deeply the man would dig a hole for himself.

  “A pity she never remarried.” Crowe affected an expression of sympathy. “Set a rather odd example for you, no? Certainly explains your own unique choices.”

  Cooper smiled. “I suppose when my father died, she could have stood outside the house with a large placard, advertising the vacant position.”

  Crowe smiled, and Lewis raised a brow, glancing at Daniel as if he, too, realized Crowe was venturing into dangerous waters. The man was not obtuse—anything but. He baited the doctor deliberately.

  Bonadea cleared his throat. “Your mother must be a remarkable person. And her sister, as well.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bonadea. And Mr. Crowe, you’ll be pleased to hear that my aunt did remarry. A man with five daughters, each more delightful than the last. Mr. O’Shea has been a boon to our family.”

  There was an edge to her voice, and Daniel guessed Mr. O’Shea had been anything but a boon to the family.

  “And have you any other relatives in London?” Lewis asked.

  Isla nodded, this time her smile was genuine, less forced. “Emmeline, my aunt’s daughter. Two years my junior, and I quite adore her.”

  Crowe’s knife clattered against his plate, and he hastily retrieved it. “Emmeline O’Shea is your cousin?”

  Dr. Cooper raised her brows, her expression innocent. “Are you acquainted with Emme?”

  Crowe looked at Isla for a moment, and then twitched the side of his mouth. “Emmeline O’Shea has caused more mayhem to the Predatory Shifter Regulations Committee than anyone in the entire United Kingdom.”

  “Mmm.” Cooper nodded and continued her meal. “It does stand to reason you would know of her. She’s quite spirited.”

  “She is—”
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  The doctor looked at Crowe, directly and without flinching. “Yes?”

  “She is . . . indeed spirited.”

  “I’m delighted you agree.”

  “Makes so much sense,” Crowe muttered to his plate. “So much sense.”

  “Mr. Bonadea,” Cooper said, “you mentioned studying fauna in London’s outskirts. Have you by any chance come across a flying squirrel? I was so surprised to hear of such a thing!”

  With the conversation smoothly diverted from discussions of Cooper’s family and into neutral territory, the remainder of the meal was pleasant and relatively comfortable despite the glowering presence of Nigel Crowe, who was a veritable thundercloud.

  When the meal ended, Daniel declined offers to join the group in the lounge for after-dinner drinks and whist; Crowe also declined, stating he had paperwork to attend to.

  Daniel stopped by the galley to see that all was functioning with Robert, the ’ton who served as chef, and then he made his way to the wheelhouse to relieve Samson so the ’ton could power down and recharge.

  “Samson,” he asked before the ’ton left, “what do you know of Emmeline O’Shea?”

  “Emmeline O’Shea. Known as ‘Emme’ to close friends and family, twenty-four years old, writes newspaper columns and educational leaflets. Daughter of Hester O’Shea and adoptive father, Ronald O’Shea. She made headlines six months ago by chaining herself to the wheel of the prime minister’s carriage to bring attention to the injustices of the Shifter Committee.”

  Daniel smiled. Little wonder Crowe didn’t care for her. “I remember the news about the prime minister’s carriage wheel, just never paid attention to the name. In fact, Oliver Reed was obliged to leave Lucy and Miles’s wedding celebration early to deal with a ‘do-gooder’ who raised enough ruckus to require the Yard’s interference.” He smiled. “I had forgotten that.”

  Samson nodded. “You are focused on your work, sir, both with your ‘cargo transfers’ and the entire Pickett Airship empire. Little wonder details escape your limited human brain.”

  “Go charge, Samson.”

  “Very good, sir. I shall relieve you in six hours.” Samson left the wheelhouse, closing the door quietly behind him.

  “Limited human brain,” he muttered. Having an extremely advanced ’ton as a best friend was an exercise in self-flagellation.

  He went about his routines, checking status reports and running diagnostic tests on some of the navigation equipment. He then reached for the paperwork he’d avoided earlier. The documents his solicitor had prepared gave him updates on the state of his entire fleet, issues with individual ships, required repairs, expansion plans, budgetary projections—all things that ordinarily held his interest. He enjoyed everything about his business empire, even the mundane details, but for the first time in a while, he was distracted and concerned. Nigel Crowe had come aboard clearly prejudiced against Isla Cooper because of their past confrontations. Now he’d learned that the doctor was related to a woman he seemed to despise with as much, if not more, intensity.

  Daniel was mulling over the details, wondering what the new revelation would bring to the strained dynamic among the passengers, when he saw Cooper cross the deck and climb the steps to the wheelhouse. She knocked on the glass door with a smile, and he beckoned her in.

  “Captain, I am headed to my cabin but wanted to tell you how much your efforts are appreciated by your three passengers. They speak of you in glowing terms, almost emotionally grateful. Mr. Quince told me about his grandchildren being harassed. Mr. Bonadea said he was released from his job because of pressure put on his employers to do so, and that you helped him secure employment in Port Lucy and plan to transport his family in the next few months.” She took a breath and smiled. “I want you to know, especially as one who has fondness for people and families like these, that I am so glad you are doing this. I’m grateful. And to be honest, I would never have given you over to the authorities had you refused to bring me on this voyage.”

  Daniel leaned against a countertop and folded his arms. “Is that so?”

  She laughed softly. “You know very well that it is.”

  “I did not know then.”

  “And I was wagering on that.”

  He tipped his head. “As I recall, you threatened me not only with that, but also with exposure of what you assumed to be cyborg implants on my person.”

  “Are you telling me it isn’t true?” She pursed her lips, seemingly fighting a smirk.

  “I don’t know what would have given you such an idea.”

  “I saw you hefting oil drums aboard with one arm.”

  “I am quite strong.”

  She nodded. “Because of cyborg implants. Tell me I’m wrong.”

  He sighed. “You’re not wrong. You know much about me that could lead to my ruin, Cooper.”

  “Then you should consider yourself fortunate that I like you, Pickett.” She smiled again. “I believe we could be good friends.”

  He lifted a brow. “Good friends.”

  “Well, yes. We both work to help predatory shifters who are being unjustly persecuted. We also have a mutual disdain for the PSRC.”

  “A solid foundation for friendship.”

  “Pickett, sarcasm does not . . . well, actually sarcasm does become you, but you are being difficult, and I am going to retire. Good night.”

  “Cooper,” he said, halting her mid-exit. “I appreciate your offer of friendship.” He approached her slowly, putting his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t be tempted to do something foolish, like touch her. “I am glad you stopped by before retiring. I wanted to tell you to be twice as vigilant around Crowe now.”

  Her brows knit.

  “He was belligerent to you even before realizing who your cousin is. I have no proof, but I sense he is one who cannot always keep his temper in check. Cannot or does not—either way, watch your back.”

  She smiled at him as a parent would to a child. “We’ve discussed this at some length. I can defend myself against him; you needn’t worry.”

  “I am serious.” His tone was sharp. “Even the best among us can be caught unaware. Just because you’ve taken down a shifter or two does not mean you’re invincible.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I do not for a moment believe I am invincible, but I can handle the likes of that odious man.”

  “Oh, I’ve no doubt you could get away from him, even kill him if necessary. But think of the consequences, and the political suspicion it would cast on you and your cousin, the negative impact it would have on your mother’s business.” He shook his head, frustrated. “Even if you acted in self-defense, it would not paint you in a good light, especially with so many people aware of your antagonistic relationship with him. I personally do not trust him, and his superior, Bryce Randolph, is twice the menace. I detest that man, and still I must tread carefully around him because of the trouble he could cause for not only the people I sneak out of England but also for some of my friends still there—friends in positions of power who have much to lose.”

  She nodded once. “Very well. Consider me warned.”

  “Cooper.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I can think of only two reasons Crowe would have insisted on accompanying this flight. We both know he doesn’t have business awaiting him in Port Lucy. He and the Committee have either been alerted to my activities and they sent him to investigate, or he followed you.”

  She frowned, shaking her head. “Why on earth would he be following me?”

  He shrugged. “It is only a theory. I initially assumed the first scenario when he joined us at the last minute, but that was before I knew of the bad blood between the two of you.” He lowered his voice although they were alone. “If he is here because of you, he now has twice the motivation to dislike you.”

  “Because of Emme.”

  He nodded.r />
  “If he wishes me dead, he has had multitudinous opportunities in London when he might have done it, or had it carried out.”

  “Perhaps that isn’t his aim. We do not yet know his plans, so again I would tell you to proceed with caution.”

  She took a breath and released it slowly. “I will. I really quite dislike him.”

  He smiled. “You are not alone. I imagine only his mother bears him true affection, and even that is likely strained.”

  She laughed, and he swayed closer. She smelled good. It wasn’t even anything he could define. Soap? Scented oil at her wrists and throat?

  She stepped through the door and grabbed the handrail leading down the stairs. “Good night then,” she said with a breezy smile. “I really must be settled before—well, before.”

  Ah, yes. Midnight, when she slept as though dead. The thought made him uneasy. For all her tactics and training, she was completely vulnerable for those six hours, and he hoped her enemies never discovered that. His heart thumped as he thought of Nigel Crowe, in a cabin only a deck away from her and with plenty of reasons to keep her from returning home. Did he know about her curse? Or where had it come from?

  Daniel hadn’t asked and Cooper hadn’t offered, and as he watched her turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs and disappear beneath the wheelhouse, he determined to question her thoroughly. Forewarned was forearmed, and he was now even more bothered by the flight’s odd assortment of people as he’d been when they embarked.

  Isla dragged herself out of bed the next morning feeling her usual combination of exhaustion and death. The fresh water she’d requested from the galley ’ton the night before went a long way to helping her awaken. She sponge-bathed, managed to wash her hair, and looked with satisfaction at the set of clothing she’d washed the night before, still drying over the back of the chair and the wardrobe door.

  She combed her hair and braided it, leaving it to hang down her back in a thick rope rather than pin it up. She remembered braiding Melody’s wet hair as a young girl, and how they would laugh the next day when they released the braids to reveal unruly, wavy curls.