by Kim Cleary
Four people carried Asher’s body on a raft-like structure. They pushed it into the fire. Flames erupted and the crowd burst into applause and laughter.
"Doused him in alcohol to make sure." Glynn laughed, and raised his glass in a toast. He checked his watch in the firelight. "It's two minutes past midnight, Saturday morning."
Saturday. The day I’d been so worried about. I’d wanted everything to be perfect. Dinner in pinky twilight on my bedroom balcony, the perfect dress that covered up all my bad bits and still had him ogling me, no eau-de-dead people, just Glynn and me.
Here we were at midnight—me in filthy army fatigues, the smell of barbecued meat in the air, and with dead people dancing, chatting and laughing all around us.
"I wanted today to be special." I slumped against his chest.
Was it only four days ago I’d moaned to Evie? It felt like weeks ago. I’d been so sure something would come up and ruin my plans to celebrate our anniversary. Something had come up, grown wings, and soared. I’d never imagined how we’d careen from the temporary train station outside the city to this bonfire at Saltpetre Way.
"Today is special." He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tight. "We are both alive. We’re together. Happy anniversary, sweetheart."
"You remembered." I pulled away from him. Smacked his arm.
"You dropped enough hints in the last couple of weeks."
"What hints? I didn't, did I?"
He laughed and kissed my mouth, tenderly at first, then hungrily until I pulled away to catch my breath.
"I remembered anyway." He pulled me back to him. "How could I forget the day we met? At the cemetery snowflakes fell onto your glossy hair and melted on your rosy cheeks. You stood there so oblivious to yourself. Do you remember? We talked across an empty grave surrounded by shards of wood, clods of earth and broken stone. But all I saw was you."
I’d told Evie I thought he was as romantic as a hammer. Thank Haebeth, my blushes of shame were hidden by the heat of the fire.
"I love you," I whispered into his chest.
Glynn didn't move. Owen’s people still squealed around the fire. Small creatures scurried about in the night, the fire popped and crackled.
The words were out. I couldn't take them back now, even if I wanted to, and I didn't want to. "I know I drive you mad. I try and fit in, but it never works, I always end up feeling a bit like a splatter of black paint that doesn't belong on a pastel drawing. I know I'm a bit different..."
"Babe, you are way past a bit different."
"I know I'm a freak. I'm undisciplined—"
"You can say that again."
"I don't think things through—"
"Or you overthink them."
"You've got so much life you've lived, and I haven't been part of any it." I punched his arm again. "You could stop agreeing with me."
"Did you know that your nose wrinkles when you get cross."
"You told me already. I'll add it to the list—"
He gripped my shoulders, touched the tip of my nose with his lips. "I love the way your nose wrinkles. You know what else I love about you?"
I pressed myself against his chest, eager for him to love more than just my nose wrinkling.
"You're brave, loyal, principled, compassionate." He stroked his hands from my shoulders to elbows. "I don't know if I'm the right one to love you the way you deserve. But I’m glad you are willing to give me a go. Glad really doesn’t cover it, but I’m not a poet. I don’t know how long I’ll have to stay in Brimbank."
I pulled away from him and paced to the edge of the fire. What if he chose to stay in Brimbank? I could still go on, I knew that. I'd rather have Glynn in my life—I squeezed my eyes against the burning pain—but I'd be okay.
He pulled me back to the bench, cuddled me in his lap.
I couldn't keep a quiver from my voice. "I don't think I can stay in Brimbank. I'm missing Ravenswood already."
"I’ve no intention of staying here a day longer than I need to."
"You’re not tired of boring old Winterhurst?"
"Yes. But if this cute redhead lives nearby." He kissed my head. "I'll be hanging around."
"It’s not red—"
He smothered my sentence with a tentative kiss and took a small box from deep inside one of his pockets. "I've been carrying this around with me for a couple of weeks. God only knows how the guards missed it when they roughed me up."
His demeanor changed, the playfulness replaced by a sensitive yearning. "This is all I have from my life before the orphanage."
I squeezed my arm around his waist.
"It was my grandmother’s. It's not worth much, but I'd like you to have it." He pushed the box into my hand.
I opened it, removed cotton wool, and found the sweetest little brooch. A green stone flecked with tiny fragments of red, wrapped in detailed gold filigree worked into the shape of a snail. I felt a smile stretch across my face.
He rubbed the back of his neck, fidgeted with his shirt buttons.
"It's beautiful." I kissed his mouth.
"I'm sorry it's a snail." He gave me a quick high-pitched laugh. "My grandpa bought it for her, because she always stepped over snails, and she picked them up and moved them to safety when they were in the middle of the path."
"I do that too."
"I know."
I snuggled into Glynn's neck. "It's beautiful, and I will treasure it forever."
"I love you too, babe," he whispered.
I pulled away from him and lifted my eyebrows. "Are you still sending me home on the first train back to New Maidstone?
He threw his head back and laughed. "As if I ever could. You’d have found a way around, over or through me."
He had that right. We stayed wrapped in one another’s arms until Owen came to tell us the train was ready to take us back to the city of Brimbank.
Aidan gave me a stiff hug and pushed a folded page into my hand. "I wrote to Mom like you said. Tell her I’m doing okay here."
"I’ll tell her you are doing great, and learning lots." If she ever spoke to me again that was.
"Assuming I don’t get chucked in prison, stay with me a few days in my rooms on the base? " Glynn wrapped his arm around my shoulders as we walked behind Owen.
"If you do get chucked in prison, I’ll have the ley lines suck everything except you into a vortex of crumbled brick and cement. "
"Is that yes? " Glynn stopped walking to face me. "Can you do that?"
"Yes, and I’d give it my best shot."
He laughed softly. "Did I mention I love you?"
I kissed him again. "I’ll never tire of hearing those words. Say it again."
The End
Author's Note
The Daughter of Ravenswood series started from a short story I wrote to learn how to use dictation software after an illness caused permanent nerve damage in my hands. I didn’t intend to create three books with it, but Meagan, and her friends just keep getting into trouble… And out of it.
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Do you enjoy steampunk, a slightly steamy foray into an alternative 1882? If so you will enjoy my latest story Tower Tango! You can read the first chapter on the next page.
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Chapter 1
Rupert Hanley scanned his room for the third time. He'd already learned to his detriment that squirming aga
inst the bonds just tightened them. He'd designed the wrist restraints too well, no amount of wriggling let him grab the leather bands or use his hands as tools.
Blast it. He ground his teeth. The automatic release feature needed more work.
He would not be found helpless like this.
If he could reach his feet to the desk, he might manage to grab a ruler in his toes and switch off the damn mechanism. His laugh became a grimace. Years of daily gymnastics might pay off today.
With closed eyes, he focused and stilled his upper body. He pushed his wrists down against the thick bands, extended his legs in front of him, and rotated left. On the fourth try he grabbed the rigid metal ruler between his big toes, aimed at the lever and swung at it.
"Nice moves."
Rupert dropped the ruler. He twisted to avoid jamming his toes into the cogs and instead smashed his knees against the riveted metal.
He spun to face the source of the polished voice. "How in the blazes did you get in?" He forgot for a moment the restraints held him tight. "Leave at once."
A young man approached, goggles resting against his forehead like a second set of eyes. A colonial rifle hung casually across his torso.
"I heard someone cry out." He pointed toward the window. "It's open, so I entered. Was it you?"
"If it was a Latin curse, yes." Rupert puffed out his chest.
This strange-looking man could be a thief. Not that he dressed like one. He'd tucked lightweight gas-pipe trousers into laced mid-calf boots. A studded belt around his waist might have passed for a lady's corset. Young, by the look of his soft-skinned face. Maybe a fop? No, not with an oily rag shoved carelessly in his top pocket.
What did it matter? Rupert growled through gritted teeth. Unless he reached the lever, there wasn't much he could do about it. "We are on the sixth floor, how the devil did you climb up?"
The man smiled. "I flew." He raked his gaze across the contraption grasping Rupert. "Do you need a hand?"
Flew? The man was delusional. And he needed a decent tailor. "No. I'm fine."
"How does it work?" The man circled Rupert. He jolted to a stop. "Someone has flogged your back. Neat though, skin looks evenly bruised. Not broken."
Rupert shuddered at the touch of a smooth fingertip down his spine. "If you are staying, at least switch off the confounded machine. Brass lever on the right."
His visitor stepped in front of him to reach the lever. The whirring stopped. With the counterbalance suddenly uneven, the arms wobbled and Rupert pitched forward. Straight into his uninvited visitor. The man stumbled and ended up on his backside on the floor. The safety device clicked on, the wrist restraints unlatched, and Rupert slammed on top of the man.
Except it wasn't a man.
In the few seconds it took to gather his wits and lift himself on his arms, Rupert's brain registered the fast beating heart beneath him, and two firm, round breasts pushing hard into his chest. Up close, her soft, hair-free skin and long eyelashes were obvious. How on earth had he thought her male?
An apology tumbled from his lips. Still muttering, he scrambled back on his heels and widened the space between them.
Her mouth curved into a generous smile and she laughed. She stretched out her hand. "I believe, after that introduction, first names are called for. I'm Priscilla."
He squeezed her fingers between his own. "Rupert Hanley. Miss…"
She laughed again, but turned her mouth to a pout. "Miss Priscilla Pegg. But I will be disappointed if you keep calling me Miss anything."
Pegg? His brain whirred back into action. The Commander of the Watch was Sir William Pegg. She couldn't be related. Could she?
She curled her legs into a neat arrangement and leaned her head to one side. "Are you related to the Chief Scientist by any chance?"
"Professor Hanley is my guardian. Are you—"
"Yes, I'm Commander Pegg's daughter."
At first, he'd thought her young. But her tone held a note of sadness, an unexpected maturity. She wore her long, chestnut hair in a braid wrapped loosely behind the goggles. He raked his gaze from the top of her glossy head to her clinched in waist and back again. Had he read somewhere she would turn twenty-four this year? Something was amiss here. Wasn't Commander Pegg's only daughter recently widowed?
She stared back at him through clear, green eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Then why is your mouth hanging open?"
"You have a sister, perhaps?"
She let out a low sigh. "No. I've returned to my maiden name as I spent so little time married."
"My condolences, Madame—"
"Are not required, I assure you. I was married for four months and in mourning for eighteen. It's time to live again." She jutted her chin at him with a determined air. "I haven't seen you at any of the balls this season. Are you married?"
"I am not." What an impertinent and unusual female. He stood and helped her to her feet. "I rarely leave the tower. My work…" He circled his arm around his room.
"What is this contraption?" She patted the machine she'd just switched off.
"A device to deliver punishment to inmates at Bogdon. Punishment that delivers a lesson but also leaves them able to work."
"Bogdon." She pulled her hand back to her body as if the machine pulsed out heat. "The prison devoted to mental and political prisoners? I've never visited. Nor read much about it. Bogdon exists, and keeps everyone safe, so father would say."
"Your father is right. You should think no more about it."
"You tested this machine on yourself?" She raised her eyebrows.
He dropped his gaze but couldn't stop staring at her lips. Lips a soft and pale pink he'd never imagined existed. Not that he had much experience with females, apart from the handful working in the laboratory. They wore their hair tucked into bonnets, strong lighting drained their color, and shapeless lab coats disguised their shape.
He coughed to clear his throat and refocus. "For earlier models, I used several of the worst offenders. But future improvements are so fine and detailed, I must be close to the modeling. The balance between sufficient pain and physical harm is delicate."
She wrinkled her face, whether with distaste or disapproval was hard to tell. She had no business disapproving anything. Her own father not only approved the work, but also filled the prison.
He folded his arms across his chest. "You said you flew here. Why? How?"
She shrugged her slim shoulders. "I've never seen Ivory Tower up close before. I borrowed a new Aspitain airship from the Watch Hangar."
"They are experimental craft." His body tensed as he recalled the details of the project. "I know the Aspitain engines are common but the ultra-lightweight frames and skins are almost untested." The exciting work used Aspite, a newly discovered mineral found to be light, strong, and an effective fire retardant. Not only were the new airships experimental, but also grounded due to safety concerns. "Your father condones this?"
"Of course not. He's aware of the experimental nature of the material. But you must agree, it's marvelous for airship building." She shrugged again. "Besides, I need something small and fast. I'm not convinced Watch Officers have time to find out who is taking children from our streets."
Rupert avoided reading newspapers. He wrinkled his brow. "Child abductions?"
The timepiece on her belt piped a short tune.
"Bother. Dinnertime. I must return home." She darted to the window and pulled her goggles over her eyes. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Rupert Hanley."
He dashed across the room after her. She jumped nimbly from his balcony to the roof of the neighboring building and raced along the parapet. At its end, she clambered into a small dinghy that dangled precariously from a cigar-shaped balloon bobbing at the roof corner. The balloon hung almost invisible in the evening sky. The rigging that attached the dinghy likewise blended into the grayness. It was a clever design, for stealthily watching from above. But what happened if she landed and bumped into who
ever was taking children?
And why in blazes was someone abducting them? He wrapped himself in his dressing gown, a frown forming on his face. It was none of his concern. Nor was it his business what a strange and impudent young woman—one disguised like a man at that—got up to.
Not his concern, but he still gazed from the window long after the small craft disappeared.
On the other side of the city, the Watchtower sat atop an iron skeleton lighthouse that towered above the squat Watch compound. It was visible on a bright, sunny day, but hidden by dirty fog that blew across town most evenings.
He checked his own timepiece. On schedule, two beams broke through the mist. From his own tower, a beam of steady white, from the Watchtower a pulsing yellow. Every five minutes, from dusk to dawn, the air traffic control beacons on the top of both towers beamed out their warning to all flying craft venturing out after dark.
He shook his head, pulled the shutters together and refocused on his room. His work was all that mattered. The professor's retirement loomed and he didn't believe in nepotism. The only way Rupert would persuade him he was fit for the position of Chief Scientist, was to focus and deliver results.
The last thing he needed was a female interfering in his life. Especially not a presumptuous widow.
He let out a soft sigh. Not even one as intriguing as Miss Priscilla Pegg.
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Books By Kim Cleary
Path Unchosen
Truth Unveiled
Fate Uncertain
Tower Tango
Unfreezing Lucy
About the Author
KIM is a USA Today Bestselling Author who writes urban fantasy and paranormal mystery for anyone who longs to discover they are extraordinary. She writes about hopefulness and determination, and about heroes who push through extraordinary situations and obstacles, one step at a time. Magical friends and gorgeous guys help (and often hinder) in one adventure after another.