Demon in the Machine

by Lise MacTague

  “It was not.” Briar took a few steps toward the far end of the shop before stopping. She didn’t move; her body swayed slightly. She looked terrified.

  The horseless shook. It was subtle at first, a vibration she felt through the soles of her feet more than saw. Before long, however, it was rocking from one side to the other, its wheels lifting off the floor, before coming down to the opposite side.

  “What is going on down there?” Joseph came over to join them.

  Before Isabella could answer, the horseless tipped all the way over and hit the ground with a thunderous crash. The engine popped open along the seam, brilliant light bursting forth from it, searing into her vision. Eyes suddenly streaming, Isabella jumped back. It was less a graceful leap and more the panicked scrabbling of a terrified cat, not something she would normally have permitted herself to do around LaFarge, but his response was as skittish. She reached out toward the nearest tool shelf and picked up the first thing that came to her hand.

  Briar dropped to her knees. Isabella squinted around the afterimage still plaguing her sight. She firmed her grip upon her…screwdriver? She looked down at the tool in her hand. It certainly seemed a weak defense against whatever was about to happen.

  “Father,” Isabella cried. “Defend yourself.”

  Joseph disappeared into one of the workshop’s storage areas. Isabella looked around, blinking furiously, trying to get an eye on everyone. LaFarge cowered behind her workbench, Briar was drawing a circle on the floor. A flicker of movement caught her attention, and she looked forward. Something was coming at her. She ducked back and felt the rush of air against her face as something passed right in front of it. Slowly her vision came back. Blurry forms flitted around them.

  Something clamped on to her upper arm with a grip that would not be denied. Isabella choked as she was pulled hard to one side. She looked down and saw runes in Briar’s blood around her feet. She was inside Briar’s circle. There was only room for one. Her head whipped up at the realization, seeking out Briar.

  One imp accosted her as another harried LaFarge away from the bench and into a corner. Briar dodged the imp, but it still caught a hank of her hair and tugged hard at it, pulling her to one side. Isabella threw the useless screwdriver at it. Her aim was true and the imp squawked, letting go of Briar’s locks. It turned its head slowly to find the source of its pain and its slitted green eyes landed upon her. An impressive hiss revealed double rows of black teeth as sharp as needles. With stunning speed, it pivoted in the air, its body catching up to its head in a split second. Isabella flinched back at the impossible maneuver. It flew at her so fast it was a blur. This imp was nothing like those that had chased her from the Mirabilia manufactory.

  It came at her, teeth snapping. She leaped back out of the circle before she could stop herself. The imp shrieked in pain and bounced off something she couldn’t see. It careened, smoking, into tall shelves along the wall, striking them in a cacophony of screams and tumbling metal.

  Isabella whirled when a weight hit her solidly between the shoulder blades. The smell of sulfur and iron threatened to overwhelm her. She gagged once, twice, then stopped when a hand reached around and dug clawed fingers into the soft parts of her neck.

  “Where’s the book, pet?” the imp asked in sibilant tones. “Give it.”

  “Go back to Hell,” Isabella said. She whirled around, trying to dislodge the thing.

  It tightened its grip around her neck, the claws drawing blood so cleanly she didn’t feel any pain at first. “More come. Give it now, or face worse.”

  Isabella backed up. She hoped the invisible wall was still there. Maybe she could scrape the imp off on it. She leaned back as hard as she could. The imp howled and let go of her or tried to. Isabella grabbed its spindly arm and held it firmly in place on her back. Its flesh smoked and blackened while it thrashed against her, tearing at the thick canvas of her coveralls with increasingly desperate claws before finally going limp. To be certain it was dead, she held the small demon against Briar’s barrier. Finally, the wall gave way and she stumbled back into the circle, clutching the imp’s corpse to her back. She coughed at the smell of burning flesh and dashed the charred thing to the ground.

  When she looked out again, Briar was trying to drag an imp off of LaFarge’s head, but with little success. Why she would even bother with the Frenchman after he’d been so rude to her, Isabella couldn’t understand. For her part, she would have been happy to let the man rot, but if Briar had to cover both herself and him, she was going to be in trouble. Another imp circled overhead, looking for an opening.

  Their attention wasn’t on her for now. Isabella left the safety of the circle and pulled the largest wrench she could find off a nearby shelf. Its weight was reassuring in her hand. She hefted it experimentally, then strode into the open.

  “Oy, you stupid little thing,” she yelled. The wrench was out of view, held alongside her body.

  The flapping imp turned in midair. Its eyes lit up at the sight of a new victim. Heavy wingbeats accompanied it as it made its way higher then stooped on her like a hawk. It screamed at her, front claws extended for maximum damage. Isabella stood her ground and waited. The imp drew closer, and she checked her urge to move. This had to be timed exactly right; she wouldn’t get the opportunity again. Finally, when she could almost see the scales around its nostrils, Isabella stepped to one side and assumed a pose any bowler would have recognized. It had been years since she last played cricket, but she’d been considered a fair batsman before the boys had discovered she was a girl dressed as one of them and had run her off. She pulled back the wrench and put all her weight into the drive, hitting the imp square in the body and sending it arcing across the room. It disappeared into a dark corner. Something shattered as the imp hit it, and the sound of objects hitting the ground accompanied its fall. Faint rustles came back to her from the corner. The imp might not be dead, but it was definitely down.

  With that one out of the way, Isabella advanced on Briar and LaFarge. The final imp was still hooked into LaFarge, though it was no longer wrapped across his face. It had a grip on his shoulders and wouldn’t let go.

  “Drag him into the circle.” Isabella had to yell to be heard over the cries of both man and demon.

  “You’re supposed to be in there!” Briar turned her head to shout back at her. The imp took the opportunity to pull one of its legs from her grasp and dig clawed toes into LaFarge’s lower back. The Frenchman howled anew.

  “I don’t need it.” Isabella grabbed one of his legs and hauled back on it. “But he does!”

  He would be safe within the circle and she and Briar could take care of the last imp without having to put themselves in jeopardy to help him. The man weighed more than she did and would have been hard to move on her own even without his wild thrashing. Add in the weight of the imp and Briar impeding her path and Isabella pulled him maybe three inches. Either Briar saw the wisdom of her counsel or she didn’t have the energy to argue, but she abandoned her attempt to dislodge the imp and grabbed LaFarge’s other leg. Together, they hauled him kicking and screaming to the circle.

  The imp launched itself off his back when it realized it was no longer being accosted by Briar. It circled overhead for a moment, then flew directly at them. Isabella dropped LaFarge’s leg and took a hasty swing at the imp. It evaded her easily, but it also missed Briar, who continued shifting LaFarge. The Frenchman hadn’t realized the imp was gone and he continued to fight, swatting violently at nothing. It took Isabella two tries to regain her hold on his leg. They were over halfway to the circle and the imp was coming back in for another pass.

  Isabella dropped the man’s leg again and swung again at the little demon. Her swipe was early and it evaded her easily, but it managed to score a hit along one cheek. It felt like her face had been brushed by fire, and she clapped one hand to it. Slick, warm blood smeared across her fingers.

  “For the love of god!” Isabella screamed at LaFarge. “You’re no
t being attacked. Get up, you utter ass, and get in that circle.”

  He paused in his thrashing and dared a look around. Seeing no imps in his vicinity, he leaped to his feet and sprinted to cower in the circle. Blood flowed freely from multiple rents on his face and ran down his scalp to dye the collar of his white shirt scarlet.

  The imp flew at LaFarge but managed to twist away when he reached the inscription.

  Isabella tightened her grip on the wrench, both hands wrapped so tightly her knuckles ached. Her blood practically boiled with the desire to beat the demon’s head to a pulp. It had come into her workshop and injured Briar. Twin wounds showed through tears in the back of Briar’s jumpsuit as she turned in place to keep an eye on the imp.

  A nearby thunderclap stunned her into immobility. Something shot through the air and missed the imp by less than a foot. Whatever it was clanged against the stone wall in a shower of sparks before clattering to the floor.

  “Blast,” came Joseph’s voice from behind her. She chanced a quick look at him. A large contraption of brass and knobs rested on his shoulder. Even now, as he lowered it, his eyes were still on the imp. He fumbled at a large quiver at his waist, trying to pull out another harpoon without looking.

  Though even the imp had been stunned at the turn of events, Briar was completely undeterred by the noise. She’d managed to grab the length of canvas she’d first tried to use to hide the grimoire. The imp came for her but Briar simply threw the cloth at it.

  The length of fabric unfurled in the imp’s path. Fouled up, it tumbled to the ground. In less than a second, Briar pounced upon it and wrapped the thing up. Isabella waited until Briar had wrestled it into submission, then she came in like an avenging angel. She raised the wrench high over her head and brought it down on the squirming canvas package. Again and again she beat the wriggling bulge until it ceased all movement and black blood saturated the rough fabric. She looked around, but there were no signs of other imps. Suddenly exhausted, Isabella dropped the wrench that dragged at her weary arms. It clanged to the ground and she flinched at the noise.

  “Are you all right?” The question came from each of them at the same time.

  Isabella croaked a little laugh. “A little bloody, but alive.”

  “You’re more than a little bloody, darling.”

  The smile that spread across her face hurt where it pulled against the slice on her cheek, but she couldn’t help it. Briar had called her darling. She threw her arms around Briar, pulling her close, assuring herself that she was indeed all right. At Briar’s intake of breath, Isabella remembered the wounds she’d seen on her back.

  “Let’s see you.” She spun Briar around. The cuts were deep and looked to require medical intervention. “You need a doctor.”

  “As do you.”

  Isabella flapped a hand at her. “They’re only shallow cuts. Yours are much deeper.”

  “The grimoire!” Briar struggled to get out of Isabella’s grasp. “Did they get it?”

  Isabella let go and raced with Briar to the cabinet. The doors stood ajar. Briar pulled it open, but the book was gone. All that remained were the smeared runes of her protective circle.

  “No! Not after all that.” Briar slammed a hand against the cabinet’s side.

  “That’s not all,” Isabella said. “One of the imps said there were more coming. We can’t stay here. My parents!”

  The sound of a throat clearing behind them brought Isabella up short. Her father carefully set aside his harpoon cannon and surveyed the damage to the corner of the workshop. His brows were drawn together so they almost met over the bridge of his nose and he puffed at his pipe with the ferocity of a steam engine at full steam.

  “Isabella Langston Castel, I don’t suppose you’d like to tell me what the meaning is of all this.” He crossed his arms and glared at her.

  “I will, but for now, we need to leave,” Isabella said.

  “Viscount Sherard, you’re not safe here,” Briar said on the heels of Isabella’s words. She gestured at the misshaped lump of canvas where black blood was starting to bleed through.

  “We shall see about that,” Joseph said. “Upstairs, both of you. Your mother will want to hear all about this.”

  Isabella cringed. Involving Althea was the last thing she wanted to do. Her mother was not going to be happy to hear she’d been out with Briar instead of using the time to acquire something of actual monetary value.

  “Yes, there’s no point in explaining this more than once,” Briar said. She started toward the lift, compelling Isabella’s father to keep pace.

  With one final look around, Isabella realized something was missing.

  “Where’s LaFarge?” she asked.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Lady Sherard had been much more receptive than her husband to Briar and Isabella’s insistence they leave the city right now. Briar wasn’t sure whether Isabella’s mother had responded to Briar’s vague reasons, the increasing concern in Isabella’s voice, or their strange and blood-spattered appearance, but whatever the case, they were on the road. She did wish that Althea hadn’t chosen to ride along in the carriage with her.

  The driver sat above, studiously following her directions. It had been impossible to send the servants ahead, as normally would have been the case. They would be following with those essentials that hadn’t been packed in their frantic departure. Briar wished she could have convinced the Sherards to forego packing up even those things, but Joseph had insisted upon having his books along. Althea had been ready to go, a trunk already packed. While Briar approved of her preparations, she wondered where the woman had gotten the habit. She supposed life as an outlaw would ensure one got into the habit of being ready to move in an instant’s notice.

  Joseph’s need to gather his books had allowed Briar to write a quick note explaining to the earl that they would be heading out of town to his Yorkshire estate. She mentioned that his horseless had been damaged and that she would send a letter explaining everything in more detail. She’d pressed it upon the Sherards’ elderly footman, asking him to find someone to deliver it as soon as possible. There was no point in going into everything in the note; she would have to have a long discussion with Hardwicke when they returned. Hopefully he wouldn’t be too cross about the loss of his newest toy.

  “What did you say was the reason we should leave so hastily?” Althea asked.

  “An imminent attack, Lady Sherard.”

  The viscountess waved away her formality. “Under the circumstances, you may call me Althea. Now what is your source of information?”

  This was not the first time Briar had been the focus of Althea’s probing questions. If she wasn’t careful, she would end up revealing too much. “When we have arrived at the earl’s hunting lodge, I shall tell you and Viscount Sherard everything I can.” She held up her hand when Althea opened her mouth to press the matter. “I’m afraid I must insist. There is no call to tell the story twice.”

  “Very well.” Althea smiled, her lips pressed tightly together. “Then perhaps you’d like to enlighten me as to the nature of your relationship with my daughter.”

  Her mouth was gaping open; Briar closed it with a snap. “Your daughter and I are friends, and we’ve been working together on a project.”

  “Is that so?” Althea raked Briar’s body with a look such that she felt her clothes might catch fire. “Then how do you come to be wearing Isabella’s coveralls while being naked underneath?”

  “I am by no means naked. I am wearing my corset and bloomers, thank you quite kindly.” Her face burned with the shame of discussing her intimate apparel with somebody else. “This conversation is not seemly, madam.”

  “What is unseemly is your lack of discretion, Miss Riley. I will not have you dragging Isabella’s name through the mud. She needs to marry well and soon, and you will not ruin her chances of a good match.”

  “I can assure you I have nothing more than Isabella’s best interests at heart,” Briar said. S
he stiffened her spine and schooled her face to blankness at the thought of Isabella married to some man. She doubted Isabella would be happy with the situation, unless perhaps she found someone like her father, someone who would allow Isabella the leeway to tinker with her machines. Even then… Did Isabella take a fancy to men at all? She certainly fancied Briar, though they hadn’t discussed how much further her sapphic feelings went.

  Briar herself would be as happy with a man as a woman, which was to say not very much in either case. Emotional entanglements were messy and largely unnecessary. She had her work; she needed little else. Why then did it feel like her heart was drying up in her ribcage? Why did each heartbeat feel heavier and more ponderous than the last at this talk of Isabella and marriage?

  Althea was content to allow their strained conversation to lapse into silence, completely unaware of the emotional maelstrom into which she’d plunged Briar. Briar gave the driver directions as he asked for them, but gazed sightlessly out the window as they traveled out of London and through the countryside. Her thoughts strayed to LaFarge more than once when given free rein. His disappearance was concerning. Was it coincidence, or was there something more malevolent behind it? That he might have been the owner of the grimoire was laughable in the extreme. No, the grimoire’s owner was a much more adept magician than the Frenchman. He struck her as an opportunist, however. Had he decided to take advantage of the situation to curry favor with the mysterious inventor? That idea was at least within the realm of possibility.

  Eventually Briar refused to let her mind indulge in obsessing over the man. She had bigger problems to worry about, and there was nothing she could do about him, in any case—not without some evidence of his malfeasance. For now, she had to survive this trip with only Althea for company. It would take them the better part of the day to travel to the small hunting lodge the Earl of Hardwicke kept in Yorkshire. He hadn’t yet sold the estate, but it had been years since he’d been out to it. The earl didn’t think much of hunting, preferring to spend his time with the strategy and intricacies of British politics. There would be no one there; Isabella and her parents would be safe while Briar determined what she would do next to stop the inventor.