The Twisting

by Laurel Wanrow

  Annmar slapped a hand to her mouth and spun away, heated embarrassment a lesser factor than the sheer relief of the interruption.

  “Excuse me,” roared Mr. Shearing. “This is a private conversation.”

  She took a step toward the house. With Mr. Shearing distracted, she could get away cleanly, or at least get closer to where someone inside might hear her call.

  chapter ELEVEN

  Behind Annmar, the driver cleared his throat. “You ’bout ready to go, then? Sir?”

  “I am not,” Mr. Shearing said. “Meet me at the inn with my bags. I’ll have your pay.”

  Annmar quickened her strides. All the pieces fell into place. Mr. Shearing was the inventor Mistress Gere had tracked down, the one who had a solution to the pest problem, offering sales of machines that might spare Wellspring and other farms in the Basin.

  He caught up, clasped her hand again and slipped it into the crook of his arm, putting his other gloved hand atop her suddenly clammy fingers.

  Flashes of Paet’s big hands grabbing her arms pelted Annmar. With her head back in that horrible nightmare of the ropen holding her so tight she couldn’t get free, she stumbled along while the carriage pulled out, slowly circling the farmyard and heading down the drive. She’d never seen the carriage that night. She’d seen nothing after Paet hit her, dragged her… She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. It’s only a terrible memory now. I’m safe.

  Annmar stopped and pulled free, her gaze locked on Mr. Shearing’s gloved hand. Golden kid gloves. Mr. Shearing was wearing a color other than his trademark green. His famous business emblem did not grace this coat. Her hand flew to her mouth. It had been Mr. Shearing’s scarred hand Jac had seen—he’d been in the carriage Mary Clare had told her about the night Paet hurt her. He had hired the ropens to kidnap her.

  A chill ran down her spine, sending a shiver over her. Mercy.

  Mr. Shearing had been relentless making his indecent offers in Derby, but she’d never imagined he’d be involved in such nefarious activities. Had he searched for her? Or had he just seen her while conducting his other business…which was what exactly?

  She glanced over the cream-colored suit again. If Mr. Shearing had deliberately changed his famous appearance to conduct business with Basin dwellers, he had to be hiding something. She couldn’t accuse him of anything until she knew more. “How is it that you’ve come to be here?” she asked.

  One brow rose with his smug smile. “I might ask you the same question.”

  He knew she belonged here. She didn’t dare play his game and inquire further. She didn’t need to. She squinted, focusing with her Knack and trying to see an underlying ’cambire. Nothing appeared. Maybe because she hadn’t had enough practice with her Knack, but perhaps he was a Knack-bearer, like Mary Clare and Mistress Gere. Or was he a stranger magical sort like Old Terry? Daeryn hadn’t said whether he thought Old Terry was dangerous, but clearly he didn’t like what she’d done. Like the hedge-rider, Mr. Shearing thought nothing of controlling people.

  Even stooping so low as to try to have her kidnapped.

  Having failed, would Mr. Shearing use his Knack on her…and would she even know if he did?

  His smile broadened. “Your parents are from here, or one at least, so you share my origins. I knew an artistic talent like yours could only hail from the Basin.”

  So he’d known about her Knack before she did. A shiver ran down Annmar’s spine. In Derby, she’d known going against the industrial magnate would be difficult, yet she’d never imagined he’d seek her out. Mr. Shearing was vile and dangerous, and Annmar wanted nothing to do with him.

  “Imagine what we could do together with our combined Knacks,” Mr. Shearing murmured thoughtfully.

  It was Annmar’s turn to raise a brow. “Indeed?”

  Mr. Shearing lifted a gloved finger. “I already consider you a key to my success, an adviser, if you would. Your drawings can win over a wider clientele than I’m able to do with my talent. I’ve long wanted to expand beyond the people who grow their own food, but it hasn’t been possible for me to do so. You can bring the others in.”

  What in heaven’s name was he saying? He had a Knack that influenced farmers and growers? In what way?

  Mr. Shearing captured her hand once more and tucked it to his elbow again. “Accompany me into Chapel Hollow.” He pulled her along as he strolled down the drive. “We’ll talk over lunch.”

  Her head spun, fighting off the images of Paet again. She had to say something…something that wouldn’t land her in trouble until she had her wits about her again. “I’ve eaten.”

  “Drinks—tea, then.”

  “I’m working.” That was a good excuse. She gestured to the farmhouse. “Mistress Gere expects me back inside.” Like the day she’d arrived, the farmyard was deserted, but now that she was an employee, she knew they’d hear if she banged on the door. Or screamed.

  “A few minutes won’t matter. And I’m sure it would concern your employer greatly to have her purchase of Eradicators fall through, especially considering the severity of Wellspring’s infestation. Don’t you agree, my dear Miss Masterson?”

  Annmar stifled a gasp. He’d cancel the sale. She couldn’t be the cause of another disappointment for Mistress Gere and her plans to save Wellspring—especially not after firing the ropens had left the farm shorthanded. Though Annmar hadn’t seen his Eradicator, or drawn it, other Basin farmers had had some success with the mysterious machine.

  Before she realized his intention, Mr. Shearing had veered them around the side of the house. “Join me for dinner.” He smiled down at her, his fingers stroking the back of her hand.

  The sensation made her skin crawl. His touch had always made her uneasy, but today it was worse, muddling her thinking. She was too warm, and her stomach weighed more heavily with each exchange that didn’t remove her from this dangerous situation.

  When another pass of his hand left her skin positively itching, she glanced down. He’d removed his gloves. She yanked free and backed away from him. Why had he suddenly bared his hands? “No, thank you.”

  “You still look like the same girl.” His smug smile returned. “Woman, I mean. Are you?” His wide eyes bored into hers, his pupils dilating as he leaned forward.

  Annmar forced a light laugh and glanced around. “Of course I am.” The same one refusing you. Her gaze returned to Mr. Shearing. Another shiver coursed through her. The way his eyes hungrily undressed her was just as disturbing here as it had been back in Derby. At least there, he’d kept a proper distance. It took every ounce of willpower Annmar had to plant her feet and stare back, something she never would have done before leaving the city.

  Before she realized his intention, Mr. Shearing smoothed a hand over her shoulder and neck to tilt her face upward. He studied her with narrowed eyes. “Mixing with these uncivilized people is no place for an innocent woman like you, Miss Masterson. Return to Derbyshire with me.”

  She brushed his hand away, trying to step out of range at the same time. She stumbled.

  He caught her arm and pulled her close, his hard body crushing her chest while the odor of cigars filled her nostrils. She tried to turn aside, but his lips came down on hers.

  Her gasp opened her lips. He pressed in, his thick tongue exploring her mouth and filling it with the taste of acrid smokiness.

  She shuddered backward, no longer crushed, but neither was she free. She raised her hands to shove him, but he artfully wrapped an arm around her shoulders and propelled her forward.

  “You have the mettle to do this,” he breathed at her ear, and stroked his fingers down the back of her neck, the touch bristling her nerves like a roaring over her body. “My offer still stands,” he whispered. “Let me give you that shop. You’ll be happy, set up in business for yourself. You’ll gain a steady and prosperous clientele to grow your livelihood, as well as”—his arm tightened around her—“an experienced man to lead you down other roads.”

  That’s
all he ever wanted, a clear voice said from deep within her. Oh…damn. Just thinking the word strengthened her resolve. Refusing him would threaten the harvest for Mistress Gere and everyone else, but she would risk it to be free of him.

  With a shove, she pushed Mr. Shearing back. Now apart from him, she saw they had arrived at Wellspring’s gate. How could she have let him compel her this far? She’d had no intention of leaving the farm. She crossed her arms and glared, but the indignity of his unwanted kiss created a heat over her chest. “No.”

  He frowned, an expression she’d never seen on his face. “Lord, woman, give me a chance to better my offer.” His hand shifted to holding his lapel, a position she’d witnessed many times when a client disagreed about the equipment or the price. “Or do you no longer wish to be employed in Derbyshire?”

  Dash it all. The magnate could have her work shunned, easily. She was nobody compared to his prominence and wealth. He’d destroy her dreams.

  But better to lose her dreams than herself. Annmar stepped back.

  He took a long breath, rolling his shoulders, and straightened his jacket. He anchored both hands on his lapels. “Return to Derby with me. We’ll come to an agreement, I’m sure of it. I’ll put you up in The Grand while you decide.”

  The poshest hotel in Derby. The hotel where she and Polly promised they’d spend their honeymoons. Which was probably the type of activities Mr. Shearing had in mind.

  “Or, give me one night’s test run, shall we say, on this prototype engine of yours. Spend the night in my suite. I’ll give you what you ask, within reason, travel expenses, money for a new wardrobe.” He loomed closer, his gaze fixed on hers.

  “No, I—”

  “Certainly,” he roared, and grabbed her arm.

  Images of Paet’s bushy hair and snarling lips crashed over her as Mr. Shearing marched her forward. They passed through the stone gate pillars. Annmar felt a thickness in the air. It hung heavy, dragging over her skin in a sticky way. The fence post—that night Paet threw me into it, the fence post felt like honey.

  This was the barrier from Mistress Gere’s Knack on the property line. All this time hearing the others talk about it, Annmar had had no idea what they meant. This was real.

  But how did she make it work for her?

  chapter tWELVE

  Even with Mr. Shearing dragging her forward, Annmar slowed in the thick magical barrier. Then her hand fell free of the sticky sensation. Thinning air traveled along the arm he held.

  What did she need to do? Because your home is here, within Wellspring’s fences, you’re protected, Mary Clare had said.

  Her face broke through. “I don’t want to leave,” she blurted, and the sensation of something snapping into place around her sounded with a pop. Annmar jolted to a stop.

  Mr. Shearing walked on, his pull bending her double. “Come along now,” he spat. “You’ll love the possibilities of this power. More money and opportunity simply fall into your lap. We’ll make a splendid team, with the shop for you, exclusive advertising for me. And on the side, trials runs to get your engine running smoothly—”

  “Don’t see any engines around here, mister.”

  Daeryn. Annmar’s gaze jerked up, and as Mr. Shearing also pivoted, Daeryn darted past them and stepped in close behind the panting Mr. Shearing. Thank heavens.

  Scarlet spread across Mr. Shearing’s surprised face.

  “Kindly release the lady,” Daeryn drawled, his face darkening to the same brown of his hair…which was now decidedly shorter. Fur length.

  Mr. Shearing’s grasp fell away. Her body wanted to fling itself to Daeryn’s side, but she settled for stepping back, with room to spare, onto Mistress Gere’s land.

  Mr. Shearing’s features shifted to annoyed, his jaw set. Then Daeryn prodded the businessman’s back with something, and he stilled.

  “Right, that’s what you feel, a new development in Basin weapons.” Daeryn’s voice held a steely edge. “Now let’s take a little walk.”

  Daeryn had a stunner against Mr. Shearing’s back. Annmar pressed her lips tight, willing her hands to stay at her sides, rather than clutch her belly while she stared into Mr. Shearing’s eyes.

  “The offer still stands,” he hissed.

  Behind him, Daeryn’s eyes narrowed to mere slits while his face flipped between polecat brown and livid red. The shoulders of Mr. Shearing’s suit lifted with the nose of the stunner. “So does mine.”

  Mr. Shearing moved several feet beyond the pillars, with Daeryn following, then he stopped and looked back at her. “I’m catching the afternoon train. Come with me. Make tonight your new start in life.”

  “I have a new start in life. Here.” Annmar’s hand flew to her mouth. Had she said that?

  Daeryn’s eyes widened, and Mr. Shearing looked back at the farm. She did the same. The old farmhouse stood proudly, but with missing slates across the roof. The rutted gravel drive would never be smooth and the whitewashed bunkhouse needed a coat of paint. In the farmhouse yard, a few chickens scratched and murmured, the faint smell of them drifting on the breeze.

  Mr. Shearing snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

  All it took was someone else’s doubt, and Annmar knew for certain. She didn’t want to go back to Derby. Mother was dead. Her job with Mrs. Rennet was stifling. The growing borough was dirty, with stale air and noisy machines. The drafting shop…the shop was just as Polly had said, mother’s dream, not hers. She’d lived Mother’s dream of a life in Derby, but that had ended. And whatever caused Mother to flee from Blighted Basin had to be long gone. Annmar was a different person, her own person.

  She slapped her hands to her hips, ready to give Mr. Shearing that piece of her mind in the edged voice Polly had coached her to use. Before she could, a woman in a gray dress ran along the orchard trees at the fence line. Patrice! Over the branches swooped a large brown bird. It tucked its rounded wings and dived straight for them. Mr. Shearing ducked, but Daeryn nodded to the bird that cried like a cat, so Annmar stood her ground. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin when saying, “I am serious. This is my home.”

  The bird flew on, and Daeryn cast her a look of approval before butting the nose of the stunner to Mr. Shearing’s linen coat. “Listen to the lady. She knows what she wants.” His shoulders rode high and tight, telling her how nervous he was to be holding the pseudo firearm.

  Yet he was determined. Daeryn marched Mr. Shearing toward town more briskly than she’d ever witnessed the businessman move.

  Annmar plunged into motion, skirting toward the farmhouse inside the split-rail boundary fence running parallel to the kitchen. A sudden urge to giggle overcame her, then turned to a half sob. She dashed the backs of her hands to her cheeks. She’d accepted the protection of Mistress Gere’s barrier just in time to avoid being carried off a second time. Had the farm owner’s Knack prevented Paet from taking her? What would have happened if she hadn’t been at the farm? A kick to a man’s weak area might have loosened his hold enough for her to find help. She would have fought Mr. Shearing with all she had, little that it was. Jac had said she fought like a girl. She’d never match Jac’s strength, but surely the wolf girl had other techniques to suggest.

  “My precious child!” a woman called.

  Annmar whirled. Patrice beckoned from the branches of the nearest orchard tree. She ran into the tree nymph’s arms, and when Patrice hugged her, limb-tips caressed Annmar’s shoulders.

  “There, there,” Patrice murmured, her voice a rustle of leaves. “You’re safe.”

  After a moment, she held Annmar at arm’s length. Instead of the willowy woman, a robust one studied her. She billowed, not because of a breeze, but within herself, and her body seemed to swell. Patrice’s dress swirled out into a cloak of camouflaging leaves around the two of them, and she wrapped Annmar with a firm limb and drew her farther into the trees.

  “You dear girl! An assailant on top of what you suffered. I’ve felt most poorly that I didn’t hear your cries th
at night and come to your aid. But you are unhurt, my friend?”

  Annmar nodded.

  “Good, you are strong. You’re thriving here. The right nutrients, clean water, fresh air. Such a difference from that confused sapling who appeared on our hill just a quarter moon ago.”

  Annmar looked at her in surprise. Patrice had been watching her then?

  “You don’t believe me, do you?” Patrice laughed, a sound as light as a breeze. “I feel it in my roots. This is good ground for you. Your system is responding, awakening. Do you not feel it?” She stroked a circle at Annmar’s collarbone and pressed while staring deep into her eyes.

  Annmar’s gaze locked on to the tree woman’s dark red irises, the color of peach pits. In their depths, a network of cerulean blue threads rose. Suddenly, a warm sensation erupted beneath Patrice’s steady pressure. Exciting and comforting, the feeling sparked to Annmar’s fingertips, her toes, the tips of her ears. Not only did she feel it, Annmar saw the blue luminated within her.

  “You do,” Patrice murmured. “Your awareness is growing. Your body is coming alive. Let it. Take your time. Do not rush your enjoyment of getting to know yourself. The bud of your talent is only opening.”

  She lifted her hand, breaking the trance with a light pat, and pulled Annmar close. “You have much to learn as you grow into yourself, my human friend.”

  Leaning into the woman, Annmar touched her fingertips to the spot below her left collarbone and stretched her mind back to regain the place inside her. This was like a starter switch for her Knack, what the jam and other special Wellspring foods did, only inside herself. And now, if she reached—

  Screech!

  Annmar’s eyelids flew open. There, above the branches, circled the brown bird with its wings tilted in a shallow V.

  Patrice laughed. “Our friends search for you.”

  “But I don’t know—oh.” The bird of prey’s hooked beak flickered with the face of the quiet black man often with Wyatt and Famil. “Gunther. One of the day guards.”

  “The buzzard has good eyes.” Patrice gestured down the hill to where Rivley ran back and forth between trees, then she lifted the folds of her dress from Annmar.